Finding the Cure
by RedPenn
Summary: A deadly fever sweeps across Hyrule. As their two kingdoms die, Link and Midna find themselves together again - and whisked away by magic into Termina, a world of pirates, legends, and a dark King of Poes intent on stealing their faces.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

The wagon's wheels bounced on the rough, rutted dirt path as it made its mad dash across Hyrule field. The horses galloped full-force, their flanks steaming and their eyes rolling, their hooves thundering and raising clouds of dust in the wagon's wake. Through the night-dark air hissed the roaring sound of fire and the whoosh of arrows zipping perilously close to the wagon's canvas sides.

Mayor Bo of Ordon whooped and snapped at the reigns like a whip, urging the Ordonian-bred horses to go faster, but it was no use. The beasts were already in a flat-out run, and no goat-herd's horse was bred for speed. Another blazing arrow shot past, and Bo cursed loudly.

"Keep 'em off our tail, boy!"

"I'm trying!" came a shout from the darkness, and a moment later Bo heard the strangled scream of a Bublin archer as a sword knocked it from its boar-mount, barely audible over the rumble of the wagon. Another horseman caught up and kept pace beside the racing wagon, astride a chestnut-brown mare whose mane whipped back in the winds of speed. Her rider was an Ordonian boy, the dark green of his tunic barely visible in the starless night, bent nearly double over his horse to diminish wind resistance. A sword gleamed in his left hand. "How are we?" he panted.

"Could be better," the mayor replied gravely. "The horses can't keep up this speed for much longer, and if we slow down those Bublins will catch up."

"I can handle the Bublins."

"It's not just them, Link," Bo added, his voice strained from exhaustion and barely suppressed fear. "It's _her_. Ilia doesn't have much time left, and if we can't get her to Renado soon…"

But he was cut off as another rain of arrows shot past the wagon in sudden streaks of fire-brightness that burned at his eyes. Without another word, Link's horse merged back into the darkness behind, and the Bublin death-screams began anew.

Bo's head whipped around to focus on the task at hand. There ahead, looming out of the darkness, were the high red-rock formations that marked the entrance to Kakariko gorge. Mayor Bo urged the horses onward through the open gates and into safety: the Bublins hated enclosed areas, and the tall walls of the canyon where Kakariko village nestled were enough to keep them away. Lights flickered past on either side; the lights of houses, and he gave a hard jerk on the reins. The horses skidded to a halt. They stood nervously, prancing back and forth and pawing at the ground, waiting to be unhitched and rubbed down, but Bo ignored them completely. He leapt from his seat at the head of the wagon and rushed around to the back, where he thrust the heavy canvas flaps aside.

Light from the village windows spilled inside the wagon, and it was enough to see the form of Bo's sixteen-year-old daughter, Ilia, sprawled out as though sleeping on the hay strewn across the rough wooden boards. Bo took her up in his arms. Her head lolled to one side. How slight she was; how weightless. He could see her half-open eyes in the faint light. They were glazed and sightless, and her chest rose and fell weakly with pained breath. Her skin was fever hot against his bare arms, her whole body was trembling. Not much time remained…

Renado the Shaman's hut on the edge of the village gave off a bright glow of firelight from its windows, and as Bo rushed towards it he could see the door open and the face of Renado's little daughter peek out. "Father, Bo's here!"

Bo knew nothing more. He felt Ilia being taken from his arms, heard Renado's voice speaking to him, and himself replying, but it all faded to a dim awareness beneath floods of relief and exhaustion. Here he was, and here Ilia would finally be safe. If there was a cure for her illness, then Renado would know of it. "Come inside," Renado's daughter was saying, and a small hand slipped into his. "There's a fire going, and I can make tea. Where's Link?"

"Here." Behind them, Link faded out of the darkness as seamlessly as a shadow, leading his mare by her reigns. "Ilia… is she…?"

"Alive," the mayor answered, and Link gave an audible sigh of relief. It turned to a wince, however, as he clutched at his right shoulder. Bo was shocked to see the feathered shaft of one of those Bublin arrows sticking out a good three inches from the Hero's upper arm. "Link, you've been shot!"

Link shrugged, and then gave a gasp as the movement brought a new wave of pain through his injured arm. "I'll… I'll heal," he managed. "I heal fast." He made a movement with his good arm to indicate the horses. "We need to see to Epona and the other horses. Bo, can you unhitch those two? I'll-"

"You'll sit down and let the little one bring you some of her tea," Bo insisted. The little girl nodded seriously and darted off into the large clay-walled hut, leaving the two men alone in the darkness. Bo waited till she was gone before speaking again. "Alright, how bad is it really?"

"Not as bad as it looks."

"Wouldn't take much," Bo muttered under his breath, and went to unhitch the two wagon horses. He turned his head again at Link's shuddering breath of pain, just in time to see the hero grasp the arrow shaft in his left hand and… "Link, stop, what are you doing!?"

With an agonizing jerk, the arrow came free. Link held it up to examine in the light of the window, completely ignoring the horrified look on Bo's face. "Uhg, it's barbed. No wonder."

"Tell me you didn't just pull out a barbed arrow embedded several inches into your shoulder!"

"Yeah, that's pretty much what I just did."

Bo shook his head in disbelief. Even as he watched, the flow of blood from the wound slowed and stopped. A golden glow shone through the solid leather of Link's left gauntlet, underneath which his triforce birthmark graced the skin. The boy shot Bo a level look. "I told you I heal fast."

Bo would have responded, but at that moment the door of the hut was thrust open and Renado's daughter appeared, a steaming mug of herbal tea in each hand. She handed one to Link and one to Mayor Bo. "Father says I should take care of the horses. I like animals," she announced. "He says you have to come inside, because he wants to talk to you about Ilia."

Link and Bo exchanged worried looks. "Is everything alright?" Bo asked.

"I dunno. That's just what Father said to tell you. I like animals," she added, in case neither of them had picked up on that point.

Within the hut a fire crackled in the center of the room. It gave off a strange, sweet odor, as though it burned with incense. Out of the corner of his eye, Bo noticed a rather dreamy look pass across Link's face; no surprise there, as the boy had always reacted rather oddly to scents. Ilia had been laid out on a pallet of blankets near the fire, and in the light it was easy to see how pale and dead-looking her skin seemed. Renado was bent over her still form, just completing the task of spooning some strange green medicinal liquid into her slack mouth. The Shaman straightened up as the two of them entered. Bo felt a strange chill as Renado's dark eyes met his own.

"I have some unfortunate information to tell you," Renado murmured, and Bo's heart sank. "And although I am sorry to have to speak it to you, it must be said. Ilia has Tremoring Fever, a disease for which there is no cure."

"No!" Bo spoke, in a trembling voice. The floor seemed to be dropping away beneath him, replaced by an endless void through which he fell: a void where there was no Ilia, no sweet little daughter to waltz around the house every morning, to laugh musically at his stories, to hug him tight and kiss him lovingly on the cheek before she went up to bed…

Renado's voice worked its way through his floundering mind. "I will do what I can for her. My medicines can keep her alive, but for how long I do not know."

There was the tiny crash of breaking pottery, and Bo realized that the mug had slipped from his hands and hot tea was soaking into the floorboards. Renado's daughter, just returning from outside, hurriedly sought a rag and bent to mop it up, but it all seemed so distant. Link's voice sounded at his side.

"If there was a cure, who would know of it?"

Renado turned his dark gaze upon the Hero in green. "I had a feeling it would be you who asked, Link. If anyone knows where the remedy could be found, it would be Lanayru, the Spirit of Wisdom who resides at Lake Hylia."

Link blinked slowly, oddly calmed by that strange, sleepy scent which permeated the air. Perhaps, thought Bo dully, that had been Renado's plan all along; to keep at least one of them thinking calmly and logically. "Then I'll go tonight. I'll ask Lanayru, and I'll find the cure, and I'll come back. Not just for Ilia. For everyone."

And Bo found himself recalling how selfish he had been. If this sickness was truly Tremoring Fever, then it wasn't just Ilia who had been stricken by it. He could remember, now that he thought about it, the other reports that had filtered into their tiny, forest-shrouded village: rumors and fears that seemed to travel less with people and more on the wind itself, rumors of a terrible disease that was sweeping through Hyrule. Bo hadn't paid them any heed at the time. Now he knew that he should have, especially when Ilia had gotten sick.

The Shaman was speaking to Link. "You must be careful. Hyrule is not as it was; it has become a plague-pit, a dying ground. Even if Lanayru can tell you the whereabouts of the cure, there is no guarantee that you will return with it in time to do any good." But Link crossed his arms (now completely healed, Bo noted, as though he had never been injured) resolutely and stared up at Renado with a look of finality on his face. "So be it," Renado said. "You'll find I know you all too well, Hero. I have already prepared for your journey." From the folds of his floor-length robe, Renado drew a small, bulky package wrapped in brown paper, about the size of Link's fist. "The thing I have packed for you in this parcel may be of some use. Keep it with you at all times."

Link accepted the package from the Shaman's hands and turned it over, intent on pulling at the twine that bound it, but Renado grasped his arm warningly. "Not here."

And so it was that Link of Ordon cast one final, longing look at Ilia, said his goodbyes to Bo and Renado and his daughter, and stepped out of the darkened doorway into the night. Bo watched him go with something akin to hope. Whatever Link set out to do he did with passion, and seldom failed. There was still a chance for Ilia to live. Still a chance…

The mayor of Ordon turned to Renado. The Shaman stared at the door as though seeing right through it, but Bo managed to catch his eye and his face creased in a small smile. "Well, my old friend," Renado said. "How much do you want to wager that the next time we see Link, he'll be riding into town with some miracle cure held heroically above his head?"

Bo gave a short bark of humorless laughter. Still a chance, still a chance…

"Renado, I'd bet every rupee I've ever owned."

**-o{}o-**

_Tremoring Fever…_ No one in Hyrule knew for sure where it had come from or who had given it a name, but most agreed that it had begun some time during Ganondorf's reign. After the Gerudo Theif's rise to power and before his downfall at the hands of a Hero in green, the Fever had risen: a strange sickness appearing only fleetingly and without any known cause in far, obscure corners of the kingdom. It infected, it lingered, it killed, and it moved on, contagious as the plague and as fast-spreading as wildfire. While Ganondorf remained in power, the disease hid in the shadows, but after his death it blossomed spectacularly.

The first to truly know were the Zoras. Slowly, great numbers of their people began to sicken and die, and so the Zora prince, Ralis, sent a messenger to their long-time allies, the Gorons, pleading for help. The messenger arrived already pale and wracked with fever, and in a matter of weeks the disease had worked its way through the ranks of the Gorons. Goron traders bringing goods to their shops in Hyrule Castle Town had exposed the Hylians to it, and soon a state of panic began. Townspeople who had been friends their entire lives would suddenly no longer go near one another, paranoid and suspicious that everyone they met on the street could be carrying the dreaded Fever. Shops shut down, vandalism became commonplace, and riots broke out in the streets.

Princess Zelda watched from her balcony as the smoke and shouting rose through the air, and could do nothing to stop her kingdom's downward spiral into mistrust and terror. The best surgeons and healers in Hyrule worked night and day to discover a cure, but so far none had been found.

She told no one, because it would only increase the general panic, but Zelda secretly suspected that she was beginning to sicken as well.

In Ordon Village, in the southernmost region of Hyrule, the Ordonians knew none of this, or if they knew, pretended not to remember. They believed that the forest would protect them. No one came this deeply into the woods where their little shepherding village dwelt, so there was no way for the Fever to find them. So they believed, and so they would have gone on believing, had not a young Hero in green returned from his battle with Ganondorf with the disease clinging malevolently to his tunic and skin…

It began a few months after his return, sometime during the summer and close to shearing season, when Tremoring Fever began to kill the goats.

**-o{}o-**

There were shouts in the goat-field. They carried on the summer air and rang through the village, through the trees, through all of Ordona Province until the world echoed with them. The trees rustled angrily and the sunlight beat down, and the frantic bleating of the goats mingled with the even more frantic cries of the goat-herds.

Yenka, the oldest of the Ordon goats, lay on her side. Her legs kicked frantically at the air as though beset by uncontrollable convulsions, and her head jerked back and forth. Froth flecked her blue coat, the signature color of Ordonian-bred goats, flying from her open jaw with every frenzied bleat.

Link dodged away from the goat's rock-hard, circular horns, and made a dive for her neck. He wrapped his arms around her soft head and inhaled the sweet animal scent and the sharper smell of fear as he tried desperately to hold her still and keep her from beating her brains out against the ground. It was useless; Yenka's body was no longer under her control, and the muscle spasms that gave Tremoring Fever its name threw her wildly in every direction.

A panting Fado grabbed Yenka's thrashing limbs and pinned them to the ground. The larger man's weight was much more effective at holding her still, but the goat's body still trembled beneath his grip. "Got her?" the goat-herd called to Link.

"Sort of," Link shouted back, squirming as Yenka's twitching head tried to break out of his grasp. All around them the other goats milled fearfully, their bleating loud and panicked. The goat-herd and his apprentice held Yenka still as her trembling slowly subsided.

Fado stroked the goat's side calmingly while not once relaxing his grip. "Eighth one this week," he complained. "Not counting little Lett."

Link followed Fado's example and ran his fingers through Yenka's blue wool. He could feel the heat of her fever as his hands touched her skin, and a momentary sense of sympathy made him frown. Lett had been one of the goat-kids born that spring, while he had been away saving the world. Her mother had been the first goat to fall ill, and in her paroxysm she had trampled Lett to death.

"It's not the fever that kills them, I'm thinkin'," Fado commented. "I mean, sure, the fever'll kill them eventually, but mostly it's the shakin'. They beat themselves against the ground till their heads break open." It had taken the death of several goats to find this out. Now at the first sign of trembling, Link and Fado would grasp the affected goat by the head and legs and hold it still until the shaking ceased. There were already several sick animals confined to the goat-stables, resting on soft beds of hay and tied securely in place by strong ropes. Now Yenka would be joining them.

"At least it hasn't spread to the horses," Link commented, thinking of his beloved mare. "I'm sure if anything happened to Epona, Ilia would beat _my_ head against the ground."

"That girl does love her horses," agreed Fado. "Sometimes I think she loves them more than her own father. More even than you, come to think of it. Speakin' of which, when are you goin' to officially tell everyone the good news?"

"The goats are dying, Fado. I can't think of any good news to be told."

"Not about the goats. You and Ilia!" he prompted with a strained grin. Even under the best of circumstances it was getting hard to genuinely smile, ever since the goats had gotten sick. "The wedding!"

Link tried to return the smile, which he pulled off with no little amount of effort. "It isn't official yet, and nothing's set in stone. We've just been talking about it. Anyway, it might be best to postpone talk like that until things are a little more… normal around here."

Fado, always eager to impart his wisdom on the younger generation (though in reality he was only a few years older than Link), gave Link a knowing nod. It's like we're acting, Link thought. The goats are dying all around us, and we're sitting here holding Yenka still so she doesn't kill herself, and it's become a sort of game to pretend everything is normal. And so we smile and talk about weddings and whatever we do, we don't spoil the game.

"There now, I think she's done." Fado released his grip on the old goat, and after a moment Link did the same. Yenka lay still and panting in the grass. Her eyes were glazed over and it didn't seem like she'd be able to get up and move anytime soon. In the end Link and Fado had to carry her between them to the stables. It was simple enough; the disease had greatly diminished her weight, and underneath all that blue wool she was naught but skin and bones. The older goat-herd spoke lightheartedly as they laid her out upon the hay and bound her with ropes. "The way I see it, you should live each day as if things can only get worse from then on out. Marry Ilia as soon as you can, that's my advice. That way, well, things might be bad, but at least they're bad for both of you."

"Easy, girl," Link muttered to Yenka, and then to Fado: "I'll think about that."

The rest of the goats were rounded up for the night. Fado had devised a makeshift corral in a corner of the paddock to keep the healthy goats, hoping that by separating them from the sick animals he could slow the spread of the disease. Link knew that this would never work in the long run: too many of the goats were already infected but not yet showing symptoms, and they were the ones most likely to transmit sickness to the others. Link herded the goats on foot. He had long since stopped bringing Epona to the corral, afraid she might contract the sickness. For all he knew it was nothing more than a goat disease, but he would rather be safe than sorry. When the last of them had been corralled, he set off past the goat-field's wooden gate and through the forest toward Ordon.

Marry Ilia as soon as you can. Live each day as if things can only get worse. It made sense, in a strange, pessimistic kind of way. Suppose all the goats died; what then? Ordon survived on those goats. The Ordonians wore clothes spun from goat-wool, drank goat-milk and ate goat-cheese and meat. They used those unique circular horns for anything from tools to decoration, and utilized the animals' droppings for fertilizer for their vegetable plots. If the goats died, Ordon would die with them.

And then what about him and Ilia? Wouldn't he rather be married to her now, instead of waiting for things to get better and secretly knowing they never would? Yes, it made sense, but part of Link wanted to keep putting it off, keep refusing to talk about it. Part of him didn't want to marry Ilia.

_But why?_ he thought. _I love her, don't I?_

_Yes, of course I do._

_So why don't I want to marry her?_

The face swam to the forefront of his mind without being called, a face with pale, bluish skin and reddish-yellow eyes, surrounded by a waterfall of unruly orange hair. A mischievous grin played across those features, and the face winked and was gone.

_Because I can't stop thinking about the other one, can I?_

_I'll never see her again. I promised myself I'd never even think of her again._

_That doesn't stop me from loving her._

_I love Ilia more._

_Liar._

_I want to marry Ilia._

_Liar._

_And I never want to see the other one again._

_Liar, liar, liar!_

Link tore himself away from those thoughts, because down that road lay something resembling madness, and instead thought about the goats again. His footfalls entered the village and crossed it in relative silence. Night was falling and the world glowed with the final dregs of twilight. No one was out and about to see him. The Hero entered the trees again, headed for the tiny clearing a little apart from the rest of the village, where his house rested.

The goats were dying. Yenka, the old goat who used to nudge him good-naturedly in the back with her horns whenever he came out to the goat-field, was dying. And it hurt, in a way that the magic of his triforce couldn't heal.

He reached the clearing and stared up at the dark silhouette of his house against the shadowed sky. It seemed somehow too big and too empty, and Link tried to remember the last time someone else had lived there with him. His parents had died when he was nine, far too long ago to properly recall, and that hurt as well. He didn't want to go home yet, and so instead he continued walking, past where Epona slept peacefully, tethered by the side of the house, past the old wooden targets he used to use in order to practice his accuracy with a slingshot. Into the woods again.

Eventually the trees cleared ahead, and Link found himself standing on the edge of Ordon spring. The water glowed slightly in the darkness, as though radiating faint moonlight even though no moon graced the sky. Those springwaters were supposed to have healing powers, but they hadn't helped the goats. The Hero sat down and stared at his reflection in the water.

The goats were dying.

He realized, suddenly, that he still smelled like Yenka; _stank_ of her. Not her sweet, animal, goat-scent, but the smell of her fear. You couldn't possibly smell that, common sense told him. You don't have the senses of a wolf anymore; that magic crystal is stowed away safely in your basement, wrapped in so many layers of cloth that you can barely feel the itch of its magic when you pick it up. But he could smell it nonetheless.

He dipped his hands in the sparkling water and washed them, first against one another, then with the sand that covered the bottom, trying to scrape the scent away. It still lingered, and so he threw his sword and shield aside and pulled his tunic off over his head. His undershirt followed, and then his hat and boots and gauntlets, and the triforce birthmark could be seen glowing ever so faintly on his left hand in response to the magical water.

Stripped to his breeches, Link dunked the wad of clothing in the water and scrubbed at it vigorously, then left it to soak. He splashed water in his face, in his hair, across his skin, trying and failing to rid himself of the horrible reek of Yenka's impending death. He had to wash it away; it stank, it hurt his throat even to breathe it in, and then he realized that his throat hurt not because he was breathing, but because he really, _really_ needed to be crying…

A hand rested on Link's water-beaded shoulder, and he jerked around to find Ilia standing behind him, sympathy in her eyes. "Link?" Her voice was soft and sweet and wonderful. "Link, are you alright?"

No, said his mind. "Yes," said his mouth.

She stared up at him compassionately, and Link found that he suddenly hated himself for not loving her with every ounce of emotion his body possessed. "The goats," she asked quietly. "Did they… Did another one… die?"

"No," he answered. "It's Yenka. She's gotten sick. Fado and I got her tied down in the stable, but…" But she'll die anyway. If the shaking doesn't kill them, the fever will. It was so… so _unfair_.

She hugged him tightly, and after a startled moment, Link hugged her back.

"Link, you're all wet."

"Ilia, you're all dry."

"Not anymore," she giggled, and Link was struck by that strange sense of acting again. We pretend everything's normal, and whatever we do, we don't spoil the game.

"Come on," she said, with a tone of strangely false cheer. "You can come to my house to dry off. Daddy's making hot chocolate."

"Well, I do love Mayor Bo's hot chocolate," Link answered, in an equally happy voice that sounded oddly forced. Whatever we do, we don't spoil the game.

She nodded, and it was so strange to see on the same face a beaming smile, and yet tears shining unfallen at the corners of her eyes. And that hurt more than anything else. Whatever we do, we don't spoil the game. But if things are bad at least they're bad for both of us. We can spoil the game together, as long as nobody else knows.

"Ilia," he murmured, watching those unshed tears glisten like springwater against her eyes. "You know it's okay to cry."

And abruptly she was pressing herself against him and shaking with sobs, her arms wrapped around his waist so tightly that it physically hurt. "N-nobody wants me to cry…" she wept into his chest. "They all w-want to p-p-pretend it isn't happening. But I've n-needed to c-cry for s-so long…"

There were tears running down Link's face as well, but he ignored them, because men didn't cry the same way women did. "It's alright," he murmured, and didn't know if it was Ilia or himself he was consoling. "We can go back to the village and drink hot chocolate and pretend everything's fine. But just here, just with the two of us… It's okay to cry."

"Link…" she moaned, and for the first time he noticed just how hot her skin felt against his own. "Link, I c-can't stop s-shaking…"

Two minutes later, Link burst through the door of Mayor Bo's cottage, barefoot and tunicless, clutching a shuddering Ilia in his arms. Bo took one look at the spectacle and blanched. "No!" the mayor hissed. "Not… Surely not Ilia!"

"Hitch a team to one of the wagons," Link commanded in an eerily steady voice. "We're going to see Renado."

The older man registered the orders with disbelief. "But, but she can't have the sickness! She just… just can't!"

"She's burning up," Link responded glassily. He was amazed at how calm his voice sounded. Whatever we do, we don't spoil the game. "I'm going to find my sword and get dressed. Meet me by the road to Hyrule field in five minutes, and have the wagon ready." He considered for a moment, considered watching the goats beat their heads against the ground until the blood spilled out. "Put something soft in the wagon for her to lie on. Some straw or something."

"But," repeated Bo, still unable to believe what was happening. "But she _can't_…"

"_Do it now!_" Link shouted, and in that instant Bo saw something flicker in those blue eyes, something wild, something _feral_. "Five minutes," the Hero said again, and then Bo was holding Ilia in his arms, and Link was gone.

There was no time, Link thought as he ran through the village, to let his clothes dry out; he would have to let the wind dry them on the way. He stopped by the spring, just long enough to put on his sopping clothes and swing his baldric back across his chest. Then he was running again, running back to his house, dashing through the door and down the ladder rungs to his dark basement. He felt around in the blackness, searching the surfaces of the shelves until his hand brushed against the object he was looking for: his lantern. He managed to light it, and then fixed it to his belt as he searched the rest of the room for what he would need. His quiver and bow were slung across his back behind his shield, his clawshot, hawkeye and empty bottles were stowed away, and the whistle Ilia had made for him from a reed of Horse Grass was worn around his neck. About the bulkier items he could do nothing. Without… _her_ magic, there was no way to carry them.

_Go on; say it,_ his mind implored. _Say the other one's name._

_I never want to hear that name again._

_Liar._

Time was running out. In a few minutes Mayor Bo would be waiting for him on the road. Link was about to extinguish the lantern and leave, when his left hand suddenly touched something hidden on one of the higher shelves: something that itched against his skin and made his triforce burn, something that sent an urgent sense of near-uncontrollable craving through his mind. He jerked his hand away, and the part of him that couldn't love Ilia laughed inside his head.

_Take it._

_No. I don't want it, and I promised myself that I would never use it again._

_Liar._

_I don't want it._

_Of course I want it. I _dream_ about it._

_It reminds me of the other one, and I don't want to think about her._

_Liar, liar, liar!_

He found that his hand had once again clasped around the object and lifted it down from the shelf, and he stared at it in the feeble lantern-light. It was a rough bundle of cloth, or rather, something much more important wrapped in a rough bundle of cloth to keep it from touching his skin. He thought he could see it glowing a sinister orange through the rough fabric. That burning urge to unwrap it, to let it touch his bare skin, was almost too strong to resist, and Link hurriedly shoved it, cloth and all, inside one of his empty glass bottles. He thrust the cork in tightly and stowed the bottle once again in his belt next to his rupee purse, and the feeling abated.

Who knows, maybe he would need it.

And so a few minutes later, astride Epona, he had met up with Bo and Ilia on the road to Hyrule field and guided them through the monster-infested plains to Kakariko village, where Renado waited with the news that would begin another journey to save all of Hyrule.

It hadn't yet occurred to Link, but he might just end up saving _the other one's_ world as well.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_I want to go home._

The walls of the Palace of Twilight gleamed an eerie dull silver, made not quite of metal and not quite of stone, but crafted instead out of something in-between. Veins of blue-green light worked their ways up and down the walls in strange, twisted patterns. Their glow was reflected in the gray tiles that lined the floors and ceilings.

Midna, the Princess of Twilight, sat despondently on her throne on the dais that jutted from the far wall. The throne, like the walls behind it, was gray, huge and bulky and carved with strange symbols similar to those painted across the walls in radiant light. It felt strangely oily against her skin, like she was wearing someone else's discarded clothes. Which was a stupid thought. It was _her_ throne.

A courtier stood at the foot of the dais, just before the stairs that led up to her seat, and fiddled nervously with his fingers beneath his long heavy black robe. His red and yellow eyes flickered in her direction and quickly looked away again; he was afraid to speak.

That's right, she thought smugly. You're afraid of your princess, aren't you. After Zant died and I returned to power, you all thought life would be wonderful. Now you know you've just traded one kind of insanity for another.

She could remember when she had been a decent ruler; not a great ruler, but better than most. The people had liked her, and she had liked being their princess and making decisions for them. And then Zant had gone mad and overthrown her.

When she came back, she wasn't the same person anymore.

She could remember the first few moments after stepping at last through the portal between worlds and feeling it shatter behind her. She had stood there regally, in her royal robes and her elaborate headdress, her orange hair gleaming against the pale blue of her skin, looking every inch a princess. Her first thought should have been, _I've come home._ Instead it was, _I want to go home._ It had made no sense to her at the time. She _was_ home: this was where she lived, where she was born and raised, and she couldn't understand why it felt so horribly alien. She'd done the sensible thing, and pushed the thought out of her head.

Now, months later, the feeling still swam through her mind. It crept up on her at inopportune moments; so that often she would have to excuse herself from whatever it was she was doing and go hide in an empty room somewhere in the palace so that she could be alone to not cry. Any idiot could shed tears, but Midna had turned dry-eyed misery into an art form. The horrible sensation of being where she didn't belong haunted her even in dreams.

_I want to go home_, came the thought, but Midna ignored it and focused instead on the courtier at her feet. He was swaying fretfully back and forth now, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly as if rehearsing his message, and Midna finally lost patience and snapped, "You wanted something?"

"I have a… a message for her majesty the Twilight Princess," he began, and pure terror laced his voice. Midna gave him a wry grin. Everyone in the Twilight Realm knew the princess's temper had been uncertain lately, and there were rumors circulating that she had already killed several messengers for bringing her unwelcome news. These were false of course. She had only broken a few of their bones. The Twilight Princess found herself wondering if this was how Zant's madness had begun: with anger that never seemed to die, and with that horribly calm voice at the back of her head that told her she didn't belong here…

_I want to go home._

The courtier had dwindled into anxious silence again, and Midna impatiently made a grasp at her Twili magic. A jet of orange sparks shot from one idly pointed finger and prodded the courtier in the chest, and he yelped and continued hurriedly, "It's the sickness, your majesty. Twelve more were taken ill this morning. In addition, three were found dead, and nine have died in the sickhouses."

"Fire of Din!" Midna cursed, and the tranquil voice of her newly-discovered conscience added, _Fire of Din? That's a light-dweller's curse._ She sat back and stared up at the ceiling, which was just as dark and gray as the rest of her world. And to think she used to believe it was beautiful here.

_I want to go home._

The sickness, that's what the courier was saying. The people called it Tremoring Fever, though where the name had originated from none could guess. Where the disease itself came from, however, everyone knew. The Light World, they whispered. A horrible plague of the Light World, and Midna brought it back with her. No one would say it aloud, at least not where she could hear, but she knew it was what the Twili believed. And the worst part of all was that they were probably right.

"Your highness?" the courtier mumbled. Midna turned her gaze on him again. "The Healers sent me to tell you that they have finished their testing. They say there is nothing they can do."

Nothing new about that. If a cure hadn't been found after all these months, then there wasn't one. She realized rather ironically that the Twili had brought it upon themselves. We pack ourselves together in our little Twilight world. We abandon the light, and any help it can give. And then we wonder why we're dying.

_I want to go home._

"There is one other thing…" The courtier's voice was barely a whisper. He seemed to be hoping that if he delivered his message quietly enough, she wouldn't be able to hear it and would thus not get angry with him. "Healer Rhent is waiting outside the throne room. He says he'd like to examine you again, your majesty…"

Midna very deliberately did not scream with rage and rip the unfortunate messenger limb from limb. That was something Zant would have done, and she was not Zant. Rhent! May he be pecked to death by wild cuccos! Months ago she had made the mistake of leaving Rhent in charge of the sickhouses. It had seemed like a good decision at the time; Rhent was by far the best Healer in the Twilight Realm, but his new position seemed to have sparked a hitherto overlooked interest in the princess herself. Not a romantic interest, by any means, but something more akin to a scientist studying some strange new specimen. Midna was the only Twili ever to have visited the Light World and survived, and Rhent seemed intent on monitoring the physical and psychological effects of prolonged exposure to the Realm of Light.

"Bring him in," she ordered. The courtier hurriedly scuttled over to the great doors of the throne room and called out to someone in the corridor beyond.

Moments later, Rhent was striding through the door. Unlike the portly little courtier, the Healer was tall, and his robe billowed behind him as he took several long strides to stand below the dais. Beneath his hood his short red hair was flecked with streaks of gray and white, but his face was smooth and betrayed no signs of aging. In the Light World, Midna thought traitorously, Rhent would be a bent old man.

"Your highness." The Twili Healer bowed respectfully and clasped his hands behind his back. "I did inform you that I would be coming again this week."

"You did," she snapped, and then to the courtier trying to sneak out of the room, "You stay. I'm not done with you yet."

"Still having problems controlling that temper, I see," Rhent remarked, and produced from his robe a paper thin sheet of glass which glowed with blue runes. He ran a finger across its surface, and the runes rearranged themselves to his liking. It was the Twili version of what light-dwellers called a "book," although theirs were made of many sheets of paper pressed together, and were read by turning the pages instead of tapping the surface. Midna decided she preferred the Light World's way. The Healer tapped the glass again, and new rune was added as he made a note. "I have some questions to ask you if you can spare the time."

"Can _you_?" was her sharp reply. "Don't you have work to do down at the sickhouses?"

Rhent's calm expression didn't change. "I, unlike some I might mention, am very good at delegating."

He was calling her controlling, and she knew it. Did he dare think he could rule the Twilight Realm any better than she did? _Of course,_ said the small voice of her conscience. _Things that live on the bottom of rocks could do a better job at this than me._ Was it because she no longer loved her people? Or was it because they weren't truly hers anymore?

_I want to go home._

"Your night vision remains unaffected?" the Healer asked, his right hand hovering above the glass book and ready to take down her answer.

"Rhent, it's been _months_. If the light was going to blind me, it would have happened by now."

He nodded and made a note of it. "And does your lack of appetite persist?"

"Only as far as the tasteless food they serve around here." The Twilight Realm had no sunlight, and therefore none of the delicious plant and animal life found in the Light World. After eating fare from the Light World day after day, Twili food seemed bland and flavorless. How she longed for the taste of fish, or of chocolate, or… _strawberries_. She would give up a hundred years of her life just to savor the tang of one more light-grown strawberry.

_I want to go home._

"Your… your highness?" The courtier had spoken. Midna glared silently at him until he took it as leave to go on. "I can come back later but… You see, my daughter's in the sickhouse, and I promised her I'd visit today." He looked miserably at the floor, and his fingers continued their nervous twitching. "It's her birthday."

There was really no need for the poor man to stay. Midna had only kept him in the room to avoid being alone with Rhent, which never ended well. "In a few minutes, then," she answered, knowing she was being selfish.

"Only, it's getting very hot in here…" mumbled the courtier, anxious to get away before Rhent's questioning awoke the Twilight Princess's notorious temper.

Rhent flicked a finger across the surface of his glass plate a few times, in an act similar to turning the pages of a book, and the glowing runes blurred as they rushed by. "I will send a note to the palace's kitchen staff to prepare more flavorful meals. In the meantime, I recommend you eat what they give you; you're becoming far too thin."

"Maybe everyone else around here is just far too fat," Midna grumbled. "Eating well on that ridiculous salary we pay you, Rhent?"

The Healer ignored her insult. "If I may perform your routine physical checkup?"

"Go ahead."

He ascended the steps of the dais and stood next to her throne. Midna tried to disregard the sense of embarrassment that accompanied being so intimately examined. Twili weren't normally concerned about personal space; that was something she had picked up in the Light World as well.

Rhent held a hand up in front of her face and his palm began to glow brightly with a magical light. He shone it in both eyes to see the pupils dilate, and then let the radiance fade as he grasped her chin and turned her head to the side to examine the color of her skin. "Still showing no symptoms of sun-damage, I see," she heard him mutter, and was pleased to perceive the slightest confusion in his voice. A normal Twili's skin would have eventually begun to show dark spots or blistering, but Midna had a secret. She was immune to light.

Slightly disconcerted by the prolonged physical contact, Midna jerked her head away and said, "I hope you washed those hands before touching me. I'd hate to get the Fever just because you have no regard for personal hygiene."

"I assure you, my princess, my hands are clean."

Then why did they feel so oily, just like her throne, just like her clothing? Just like _everything_ in the Twilight Realm? Even the air was stale and oily. She wanted fresh air, open-sky air. She wanted _wind._ She wanted…

_I want to go home._

"I have been informed," Rhent added as he tested her reflexes, "That you have turned down three potential suitors in the last month. Care to tell me why?"

Ah, yes, he wanted her to talk about her life. Rhent always tried this tactic eventually. It was his way of testing her mind while he tested her body; probing to see whether she was going mad and turning into another Zant. Midna had the feeling that she was possessed by a different kind of madness entirely.

"They weren't my type."

"And what would your type be, your majesty?"

Midna pretended to consider. "Well, let's see… Tall, going gray around the temples, preferably a Healer…"

"I don't find that funny," Rhent said calmly.

"No sense of humor," she added to the list. "What do you expect, Rhent? Maybe I just don't want to get married yet."

"That's your decision, I suppose," the Healer sighed. He tucked the glass book under one arm. "And seeing as you're perfectly healthy, the Twilight Realm isn't in urgent need of an heir."

Midna watched him descend from the dais and retreat across the floor. The great doors of the throne room slammed shut behind him. The conversation hadn't been as bad as she had anticipated. Last time, Rhent had touched on her fondness for the Light World, and there had been a heated argument. Perhaps the Healer had learned from his previous mistake. It seemed as though there had been no need for the courtier after all… The courtier! She had forgotten all about him, standing forlornly by the door and wringing his hands. "You can leave," she called.

The little Twili nodded groggily. "Yes, your highness… hot in here… fresh air…" He took two steps and fell to the ground, his whole body shaking violently.

The Twilight Princess wasn't even aware of deciding to scream, but the shout ripped out of her throat before she could stop it. "Oh goddesses, _Rhent!_"

Rhent burst through the door the second she screamed. His eyes scanned the room wildly and found the courtier thrashing on the floor. "Tremoring Fever," he hissed, and Midna could feel him reaching for his magic and weaving tendrils of it through the air, forming invisible bonds that would keep the man still.

Too late! The courtier's body shuddered horribly, and his head whipped back and struck the hard gray tiles of the palace floor. Once, twice, and at the third strike there echoed a horrible _crack_ of splintering bone. Flecks of black Twili blood spattered the walls and floor.

The courtier was dead.

She was standing up, Midna realized, although she couldn't remember doing so, and so shakily she sank back into the seat of her throne. The deadly _crack_ echoed again and again inside her head…

_I want to go home._

Someone was touching her face… Rhent was kneeling in front of her, wiping the courtier's blood from her cheeks with the corner of his robe. He was speaking, but the words made no sense. Nothing made any sense anymore, and the longing to be where she belonged welled up inside Midna like bile.

"I want to go home…" she whispered.

"You're home, princess, you're right here in the Palace of Twilight," Rhent was saying, in the calm, soothing voice that might be employed when talking to someone on the brink of psychosis.

"No…" Midna heard herself say, and she vaguely registered that Rhent's magic was siphoning the black bloodstains from her royal robes. "I want to go _home_. I want to see the sun and feel the wind and eat strawberries until I explode…"

_I want Link._

"I want Link…" she echoed hollowly. "I want my wolf with the blue eyes…"

"Midna," Rhent murmured gently, and she found herself blinking away the horrible longing and focusing on him for the first time.

"Healer Rhent?"

"I'm right here," he answered.

Oh, no… She'd just had one of her breakdowns in front of _Rhent_. Now he'd know she was mentally unstable. What would he do? Would he talk to the palace nobles; have her watched every minute of the day for signs of madness? Could he have her overthrown?!

"I'm not crazy," she pleaded. She hadn't meant it to sound like pleading, but it was too late to take the words back. "I'm not Zant."

Rhent shook his head. "Your highness, no one could be expected to think rationally after what you just saw. I would be more concerned about your mental state if you _hadn't_ been shocked."

Midna managed to regain some of her composure and glared at him. "_You_ seem perfectly fine."

"I've seen deaths like this before. Tremoring Fever has claimed a great many from the sickhouses. When you work as a Healer, death tends to lose its horror."

"Should I add 'hopelessly jaded' to my perfect man list, then?"

"Glad to see you're feeling better," he responded flatly.

Within a few minutes, the palace cleaning staff had been summoned to take away the courtier's body and magically scrub the walls clean. Several palace guards stood in a corner talking to Rhent. Slumped dejectedly as she was on her throne, Midna could make out a few words of their conversation, mainly a lecture from the Healer about how to tell if someone was carrying the Fever and why said people should not be allowed inside to speak with the princess.

She was thinking about the things she had let slip to Rhent after the courtier's death. They were all true, though she had never before admitted them to anyone; she wanted the light, needed it. And she also missed the warmth of the sun and the chill of the wind and the taste of strawberries. But never before, even to herself, had she confessed to missing Link.

_I want Link. I want my wolf with the blue eyes._

It seemed like she was allowed to miss the Light World, because who wouldn't? There were too many wonderful memories there; it was impossible not to fall in love with it. But to say she missed Link would be like saying she preferred the light-dwellers over her own people, and that was a treacherous thought. It would be like saying she didn't want to be the Twilight Princess anymore.

But what _did_ she want?

_I want Link. I want to go home._

There was no way back to the Light World. The Mirror of Twilight, the portal between their dimensions, had been destroyed. Destroyed by her, to prevent another maniac like Zant from stepping through and wreaking havoc on both worlds again.

_I want to go home._

She wanted to go home, wanted it so much that it hurt. A split second later, she realized that she hurt a whole lot more than mere emotional pain could ever account for.

Midna gasped and a stab of white-hot pain ripped through her body, making her grasp the arms of the throne until her knuckles went pale. A second wave of pain followed, and this time she located its source. Magic. Someone was attacking her with magic, targeting _her_, the Twilight Princess! Desperately she lashed out at the unseen enemy with a pulse of Twili magic and felt the pain recede, only to return a moment later with doubled force.

Her vision was fading, and she could hear shouts echoing through the throne room as the other Twili sensed the massive volume of alien magic discharging through the air. Somewhere seemingly far away she could sense Rhent grasp hold of his own magic and pair it with hers, pushing back the unknown force. For an instant it seemed they would win, but then a new energy joined the first and leant its strength to the battle. It was hot and sharp and burned golden against the inside of her eyelids. She knew that power, recognized it from somewhere, but before she had time to think another throb of pain consumed her, and all thought drained away…

**-o{}o-**

The early morning sun was just beginning to glimmer palely on the horizon by the time Link reached the shores of Laky Hylia, but the tall, unscaleable cliffs on every side left the water in deep bluish shadow. Only a few months ago Link could have easily warped here using _the other one's _magic, but now he had resorted to riding Epona, and then proceeding on foot when the cliffside proved too treacherous for the mare to scale. The warp point was still there; he could see the dull metallic black of twilight particles hanging in the air high above the lake, visible only to those with senses fine-tuned to Twili magic.

A short platform of gray stone tiles jutted out into the water from the entrance of a cave in the rock face. Statues loomed overhead, carved in the shape of snakes to represent the form taken by Lanayru. It was said that the Snake Spirit received its knowledge directly from the goddess Nayru herself, and that the cryptic answers it gave were always true. Link stood at the mouth of the cave and pondered. What if he asked Lanayru and it told him there was no cure? It would be like losing Ilia to the Fever all over again. The triforce grew warm on his left hand. _Courage._

He would have to ask, even if it meant being told his quest was in vain. And Link had a feeling that Lanayru _would_ know the cure, otherwise Renado never would have sent him to the Spirit in the first place.

Taking a deep breath, Link stepped inside. The walls of the cave closed over his head, and for a few moments he walked through a low stone passageway. Then ahead his eyes caught a glimmer of light, and the corridor widened into a huge cavern above a mirror still lake of shimmering springwater. Twisting rock formations rose from floor to faraway ceiling, and the strange spiraling symbols carved into them shone with the light Spirit's power. As he stepped out onto the narrow platform that overlooked the spring, the water began to glow a bright white, and an echoing voice sounded, rumbling around the cave and yet at the same time whispering inside Link's head.

_"Link of Ordon. You come seeking an answer."_ Out of the water rose a form of pure light, the figure of a gigantic snake clutching a sphere of swirling sunlight between its fangs.

Link nodded, and voiced his question. "This disease called Tremoring Fever… Is there a cure for it?"

_"Yes."_

It seemed as though a great weight had been lifted from Link's chest. He asked, with growing relief, "What is it?"

The answer seemed a long time in coming, but when Lanayru spoke again it sent a torrent of ice through Link's body. _"I do not know."_

Link remained calm, while inside of him something wild and animal in nature began howling in fury. That was just the wolf, and he knew how to control the wolf. In its glass prison at his belt, the orange crystal gave a crackle of magic. "I was told you knew everything."

_"All the knowledge in Hyrule is mine to impart, but the answer you request does not dwell in Hyrule."_

"Where can I find it, then?" Link asked.

_"Travel west, beyond the Great Desert. Below the painted sun and moon lives a man with one hundred faces. He holds the remedy you seek."_

"Is that all you can tell me?" Link asked, puzzled by the enigmatic nature of Lanayru's answer.

_"That is all I can see," _the Spirit of Wisdom answered,_ "But there is one more thing you must know. Without the Twilight Princess, your quest will fail."_

"Midna?" There, that was the name he had so forcibly been trying to forget. The sound of it triggered repressed memories, scenes of a cursed imp with a sarcastic grin, and later a beautiful princess with a smile no less cynical. He forced the emotions down; he could deal with them later. "But she broke the Mirror of Twilight. She can't come back to the Light World."

_"Not permanently, no. But there is a way to bend the rules so that she may stay for a short time in the World of Light."_ From high above, where the cavern's ceiling was shrouded in shadow, the sound of breaking rock echoed, and a moment later a tiny fragment of one of the cave's twisting pillars floated down to Link's eye level, borne on currents of Lanayru's magic. It was about the size of Link's fist, and smooth on one side where it had once been part of the cavern wall. The spirals carved into its surface glowed faintly. Lanayru guided it with streams of magic toward the Hero, and Link reached out and caught it in the palm of his left hand. Instantly his triforce flared with heat.

_"Only a Spirit of Light has the power to remove a sacred stone from its resting place in this cave. Once separated from its brethren, the object becomes a Summoning Stone, which can be used to warp items and even people from one point to another. We cannot use it to bring us the cure, because we do not know what it looks like or even where it is."_

"But we know where Midna is," agreed Link, growing excited. But there was always a hidden catch, wasn't there?

He hadn't realized he had voiced the opinion, but perhaps Lanayru had simply read his mind, because it responded, _"It takes very little magic to transport something within its own world, but to bring the Twilight Princess between dimensions, especially after the Mirror of Twilight has been destroyed, will be difficult even for my magic. In addition, there are rules to using a Summoning Stone. When your friend arrives here, you must give her a charge. She will be bound by magic to follow that charge, whatever it may be, and once she has completed it she will instantly return to her own world. Be careful of your wording lest you set her a task that cannot be accomplished, for then she will disappear at once, and not even I have the strength to summon her a second time."_

"I understand," Link answered.

_"Then prepare your charge and let us begin."_

Following the instructions placed wordlessly into his head by Lanayru, the Hero closed his eyes and pictured Midna. He had been trying for so long to forget Midna's features that at first Link was worried he might not be able to recall them, but a moment later she was rising to the forefront of his mind, just as clear and detailed as if he had only seen her earlier that morning. It was her imp face that first appeared because it was how he had known her the longest, but it was simple enough to alter the picture. Long orange hair, he thought, done up in her elaborate headdress, and silky black robes. And slanted yellow eyes with pupils as red as garnets. He let the image sink in, burn itself into the forefront of his brain, and then he sent it out to Lanayru, willing the Spirit to see her as he did.

_"Good,"_ the Snake Spirit acknowledged, and ripple of power flowed through the Summoning Stone in Link's hand.

And then, just as powerfully, a hot pulse of agony seemed to throb out of the stone itself. Even through his leather gauntlet, Link could feel the skin of his palm begin to blister as if aflame. The triforce of courage blazed up at once to heal the damage, but even as the old wounds were healed new tore across his hand to replace them.

_"Do not drop the stone,"_ Lanayru warned in a tone of urgency. _"No matter how painful it becomes, you must not drop the stone!"_

"What's… happening?!" Link hissed, through gritted teeth.

_"Midna does not wish to be summoned. Her twilight magic is fighting against mine."_

"Is your magic stronger?" The pain was becoming unbearable, and Link could feel his own blood sticking tackily to the inside of his gauntlet as the skin broke and bled.

_"Yes."_

A new wave of pain hit, and Link collapsed to the ground, clutching at his left arm and barely able to breathe. Only the white-hot agony in his left hand told him he still held the Summoning Stone.

_"Another Twili has joined his magic with hers,"_ he heard Lanayru say. _"The magic of two powerful Twili sorcerers I cannot best. I must request to borrow the power of your triforce…"_

"Take it!" Link gasped. The Spirit of Wisdom reached out with its magic and began feeding on the power of the triforce of courage. A golden corona enveloped the sphere in its mouth, and a final throb of power washed over them both. A blinding flash of light and…

Link opened his eyes to find the cavern darkened once more. The glow on the water had vanished, as had the Spirit that dwelt within it, and only the feeble luminescence of the cave walls gave any light to see by. His hand stung, but already the triforce was working its healing magic. The Summoning Stone had vanished. He was sitting cross-legged on the ledge above the water, and there was a strange weight in his arms.

This proved to be a woman with pale blue skin and orange hair, wrapped in the black robes of Twili royalty. At first he thought she was unconscious, but a moment later she stirred in his arms.

"Midna?" Link questioned, and his voice sounded choked, as though he hadn't spoken in years. It couldn't really be this easy, not after all these months of missing her, could it? Suddenly remembering what he had to do, the boy bent and whispered into her delicate pointed ear. "Midna, Princess of Twilight, I charge you to help me find the cure for Tremoring Fever and use it to save all of Hyrule." He held his breath. If it couldn't be done, if they were doomed to fail, then she would disappear again.

But Midna's eyes fluttered open and stared into the bottomless blue of his own. "Link?"

She would be angry, he knew. She had broken the Mirror of Twilight specifically so that no one could ever cross the barrier between worlds again. Now he had brought her here, when she had probably been trying just as hard as him to forget they had ever known each other. He expected her to be angry. In fact, he expected her to scream. But Midna seemed to be in shock, her eyes darting around the familiar Spirit Spring as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Alright, first shock. Then anger.

"I'm in the Light World," she murmured dazedly. "That's not right. I'm dreaming."

"This isn't a dream," Link explained, standing and helping her to her feet. He had forgotten how much taller than him she was. "Lanayru and I brought you here. I can explain everything…"

The Twilight Princess shook her head. There was a strange expression on her face, halfway between bewilderment and delight. "Explain later. Right now, do you know where I can find some strawberries?"

"Strawberries?"

Her old grin was fast returning, without a hint of the anger he had been expecting. "Strawberries! Bushels and bushels of strawberries! If this is a dream then I'm liable to wake at any second, and before I do, I want some strawberries!"

"I think there's a strawberry patch along the north end of the lake," Link said, baffled, and Midna giggled and grabbed his (completely mended) hand. She pulled him out of the cave and into the early morning glow that hung like an aura over the shores of the lake. The sun had finally peaked the top of the cliffs, and honey-like light spilled in shimmering waterfalls down the rock face and pooled across the water, and it was into this world of light and splendor that Link and Midna ran. At the edge of the tiled platform she released his hand and ran forward into the shallows of the water. She twirled, and liquid silver beads of wet leapt from the hem of her robes.

Over and over again she chanted the same two glorious words.

"I'm home, I'm home, I'm _home!_"

**-o{}o-**

Rhent stood in the center of the throne room and stared in disbelief at the dais, where the throne sat empty. Well, not necessarily empty. Lying forlornly in the seat where Midna had been only a moment before, a faintly glowing piece of rock gave off a pulsating light from the spiral designs carved into one of its sides. An eerie hush had filled the room. The palace guards stood and stared, the servants stood and stared, and Rhent stood and stared as well.

What kind of evil magic could do a thing like that? The Healer ascended the steps of the dais slowly, as if they might crumble beneath him, and stood in front of the throne. This close he could actually taste the metallic undertones of magic that wafted from the mysterious stone. He reached out a hand to touch it, and the pulsing light seemed to burn his fingers; magic of the Light World.

"We must have this stone examined…" he began, and felt the sudden rise of magic behind him.

The next thing he knew he was being slammed to the ground, bound hand and foot by magical cords, and the palace guards were standing over him with angry looks on their faces.

"What is the meaning of this!?" Rhent demanded, and was rewarded with a stinging blow across the face.

"Silence, traitor!" the guard commanded. "You are under arrest for the murder of the Twilight Princess!"

The Healer squirmed in his bonds, earning himself another clout. "What are you talking about?! You saw what happened…"

"I saw _you_ attacking the princess with your magic!" snarled the second guard, to Rhent's disbelief.

"I was trying to _help_ her! What would I stand to gain from killing the princess?! And stop hitting me!" he added, as the guard reared back for a third strike. His plea was ignored, and the resulting slap made his eyes water.

"On your feet, traitor!" One of the guards hauled him into a standing position, still completely magic-bound. "What would you gain? Revenge, maybe?!"

"The Twili nobles have been watching you, Rhent," the second confirmed. The rune-signs on the guards' arms glowed, and Rhent felt a jolt of painful magic shoot through him. His head drooped, and the Palace of Twilight faded to black in front of his eyes.

"Everyone expected something like this," the Healer blearily heard just before he blacked out, "Since you're Zant's brother…"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Typical Lanayru," Midna grumbled good-naturedly, popping another wild strawberry into her mouth. The desired patch had been found, clinging forlornly to the wispy grass right where Link had remembered it, and the berries were tiny and tart but still deliciously juicy. Midna's fingers were already stained red, and the discarded pile of royal robes which she kept wiping them on would probably never be clean again. She sat in the sunlight covered by nothing but the dark markings that wound around her body -Link had never been able to tell whether they were a type of form-hugging Twili clothes or simply some sort of birthmark, but either way they obscured enough for decency's sake- and the blue-green rune symbols on her arms, legs, and pointed ears glowed strangely in the Light World's daylight.

Link sat cross-legged across the grass from her and watched her eat. He had always been impressed by the Twilight Princess's appetite, but now she was eating as if she hadn't seen food since her return to the twilight. He had just finished filling her in on the Light World's predicament and his strange conversation with Lanayru, and was surprised by her response that the same disease had been killing her people as well.

The Twili woman caught his eye and grinned at him through lips sticky with berry juice. "If you ask me, that whole conversation was pretty pointless. I mean, what good is it being the Spirit of Wisdom if you can't even give a straight answer?"

"Lanayru told me all it could," Link pointed out. "Even if we don't have specific directions, at least it's something to start with."

She shrugged. "I understand the 'travel west' part, but a painted sun and moon? A man with one thousand faces? That could mean anything."

"One hundred faces," the Hero corrected. "And we've followed vague directions before. Remember when we were searching for those Mirror Shards?"

Midna's smile turned nostalgic, and Link had the feeling she remembered with much more fondness than he did. It seemed strange to discover that while he had been trying his hardest to forget about Midna's world, the Twili had spent every waking moment thinking about his.

"I remember. The desert, the snow, the forest, the sky. Pretty pointless instructions when you realize how big Hyrule is." Her laughter died as she looked soberly out across the water. "I really missed this place. It's kind of a shame to think I can't stick around forever."

"I would have thought you'd be happy to go home again," Link said quietly, and she laughed again in that annoyingly melodic way that he knew all too well.

"Oh, I _am_." Leaving him with that sufficiently puzzling answer, she stood and began to pull her robes back on over her head, then paused and finally cast them aside. "You know, I never did like wearing these. They're hard to run in, and they don't let the sun touch my skin." A moment later the black cloth disintegrated into dust-like twilight particles and reformed around her body as she worked her magic to alter it. Link politely averted his eyes even though there was no real reason to, because that's what you did when a girl was changing clothes, wasn't it?

"There," he heard her finally say, satisfied, and risked a look. The heavy robe had been reduced to a black ankle-length sarong with the typical blue and green designs on the hem, and an equally black sleeveless blouse cut in the light-dweller fashion bared her arms and midriff. "Better?" she asked, turning slowly in order to show off her new look from every conceivable angle.

Better? Well there was certainly more skin showing, if that was what she meant. "Uhrg," said Link, to whom the joy of hormones had been a previously unexplored experience. She shot him an amused look, and he quickly recovered with, "I mean, yes. Much better. You look nice."

"Just nice?"

He wasn't fooled by this trick. That was the same tone of voice Ilia used when she wasn't satisfied with how he had complimented her, and Link had long since learned how to handle Ilia's displeasure.

"Well, the clothes are nice. _You're_ beautiful."

A wry grin crossed Midna's face. "Don't kid with me, farmboy. I know short and blonde is more your type."

It had been a joke, but Link felt a sudden stab of panic at her words. Midna still didn't know he and Ilia were getting married. He had carefully avoided mentioning the young shepherdess during his explanation of Hyrule's plight, and he found himself wondering how Midna would react to the news that he was doing all of this for Ilia. She was extremely possessive of him, he knew, and often on their travels across Hyrule she had become angry at him for talking to other women. She would be furious, jealous; she might even refuse to help him.

_Without the Twilight Princess, your quest will fail._

And Ilia would die.

Midna's voice called him back to reality. "Let me carry your weapons and things, for old times' sake. I miss being useful."

Link forced a laugh and produced the objects he had retrieved from his cellar. "I don't have everything with me, but this should do, right?"

The Twili woman's magic wrapped around each item as he handed it to her, banishing it to the gap between dimensions from which she could retrieve it at any time. "Clawshot, hawkeye, horse whistle, bow, quiver, arrows, lantern, rupee wallet, four empty bottles… Why yes, nothing but the bare essentials for you, I see," she said sarcastically. "And would you look at this!"

From the fourth glass bottle she pulled a wad of cloth, which Link knew instantly to contain the black and orange crystal that could turn him into a wolf. He had forgotten that he'd brought it. "I always wondered what happened to this!" Midna said cheerfully, like a child discovering a long-lost toy. She unwrapped the strips of cloth that bound the crystal and let it glint sinisterly in her hand; a glint that came from the light of some other world, since the blackness of the crystal itself was far too deep for the sunlight to touch. Link could feel raw streams of twilight magic flow past his skin, and somewhere behind his eyes the wolf howled gleefully at the prospect of freedom. Link had to admit, he was strangely eager as well. Left to its own devices the artifact was a thing of malevolence, but in Midna's hands it became a source of channelable power, something that could be directed and controlled.

Her eyes met his, and they were strangely bright.

"The warp points are all still here," she began.

"And we do need to get to the Great Desert," Link finished.

**-o{}o-**

Princess Zelda's private study was bathed in a soft honey-colored early morning glow which slanted through the curtains of the tall thin windows that looked out into the castle courtyard a good three stories down. The light caught upon little eddies of dust in the air and made the room sparkle. Zelda stood by the window and gazed vaguely out at the distant rooftops of Castle Town, still partially obscured by morning haze. Her fingers tapped the stone of the windowsill in frustration.

"So there is nothing I can do?"

The answering voice sounded only in her head, the echo of an echo and the memory of an answer. It was the same whisper Link had heard when he sought wisdom from Lanayru. The Spirit's voice was calm and consoling. _"No, princess, there is nothing you can do."_

"Again," she murmured. The sunlight played through her golden-brown hair and across her pale skin, paler than it had been in a long time. "My kingdom is in peril, and I cannot raise a hand to stop it. Again." The last time had been when Zant unleashed his twilight upon Hyrule. Zelda had been powerless to stop him, and though there was nothing she could have done, she still blamed herself.

She considered for a moment, putting the triforce on her hand to work. The triforce of wisdom did not bear the same healing powers as that of courage, but it allowed her to think logically and clearly, even when she should have been drowning in panic. She always required the use of her triforce when speaking with Lanayru; the Spirit's answers could often be cryptic or misleading, and it was important to word questions specifically. "Is there hope for Hyrule? Is there a way to save my kingdom?"

_"Yes, but none that you could accomplish."_

"Then who…" she began, but the answer leapt into her head before Lanayru even spoke the words.

_"Link of Ordon and the Twilight Princess are Hyrule's only prayer for survival. Already Link has spoken to me about seeking out a cure. I granted him as much information as I knew, but where he is going my knowledge has no bearing."_ The Snake Spirit didn't sound overly upset about this limitation. On the contrary, it seemed satisfied that this was how things should be. _"As to where his quest will lead, only Nayru herself knows."_

Zelda gave a small sigh. "And will his quest succeed?"

A moment of silence inside her head, while Lanayru seemed to be deep in thought. _"Two futures deviate from this point. In one I see Link of Ordon returning victorious with the remedy Hyrule seeks. In the other he and the Twilight Princess parted in anger. In that future not only will he fail, but he will die horribly."_

"If he dies, what will become of Hyrule?"

_"The goddesses would not allow Hyrule to be destroyed. A way will be found for a chosen few to live, and from the ashes they shall build the kingdom again. But this is a long and painful alternative, and much pointless death must occur before it can truly begin."_

The princess of Hyrule stood in silence. It was a predictable outcome; many times in Hyrule's history had the entire kingdom been destroyed and rebuilt again. There was nothing more she really needed to ask Lanayru -at least nothing that the Spirit could answer- but she voiced her final question anyway, because it was something she wanted to know.

"Do I have the Fever?"

_"Yes."_

"Am I… going to die?"

_"Every mortal dies. It is not my place to tell you the end of your time in this world."_ After a moment, it spoke again with a tone of comfort. _"If Link succeeds, your lifespan will be much longer than if he fails."_ And then the Spirit's presence inside her head vanished as if it had never been, and Zelda was left standing by the window and feeling very, very alone.

**-o{}o-**

Given a few years, Link estimated, he could have forgotten about how Hyrule had once been beset by twilight. He could have forgotten Midna's infectious laugh, and the feel of a sword in his hand. But _this_… How could anyone ever forget what _this_ felt like?

Midna had never managed to bring him through the warp portals in his human form, the one thing her magic seemed unable to handle, and so Link had always had to become the wolf before warping.

To be a wolf was to have every sense magnified one-thousandfold. The world wavered before his eyes in a haze of grainy black and white, but it was punctuated by vibrant streaks of criss-crossing color from nearly tangible scents that erupted before him in a million shades and hues. His whole body was sleek and powerful, and once he got into stride he could outrun even Epona. Thought was sharp and fast, each new idea racing through a mind governed by instinct with a speed no human could ever duplicate. To be a wolf was to be alive.

Morning had turned to afternoon, and the blazing white sun of the Great Desert beat down with unrelenting force against the endless golden dunes that swept from horizon to heat-wavering horizon. The blistering heat of the sands worked its way through Link's paws until they felt raw, but his triforce kept the burning at bay. Midna clung to his back with her arms wrapped around his neck. Gone were the days when she could ride him in the form of a tiny imp; the Twilight Princess was her full height now and had to bend uncomfortably to get a good grip and avoid falling off.

They were delving deeper into the desert sands then they ever had before, past the plateau that led to the Cave of Ordeals, beyond the towering and ancient bulk of the Arbiter's Grounds prison that had once held the Mirror of Twilight, and beyond into a searing wasteland devoid of landmarks or life.

And then, above the other scents flashing in neon across his mind, above even the sharp orange magic-aroma of Midna, another smell rose hot and jagged, burning in fierce silver streaks, rising out of the sand itself. It seared across Link's wolf mind, skewing his other senses and causing him to stumble in his gait. The Hero halted abruptly, a motion which nearly spilled Midna from his back, and he could hear her muffled "Umph!" of discomfort as she was jolted.

"I remember when riding you used to be fun," Midna grumbled, allowing herself to slide off into a rather undignified heap. She stood up and began to stretch her aching legs. "So what is it now? It's only been an hour; you can't want to take a break already."

Link scrubbed furiously at his muzzle with one paw, trying to clear the silver reek that had him so disoriented. The Twilight Princess gave him a concerned look. "What's wrong?" she began, and then her eyes slowly widened at some inner realization, and she added, "I can feel magic…"

But the words were scarcely out of her mouth before the sands erupted beneath them and the world went mad.

Shapes leapt from beneath their feet; nightmare forms made from the sand itself, shifting and changing with horrible eye-watering contortions. Enveloped in his own private world of overwhelming silver, Link gave a pleading whine and a moment later Midna's magic was wrapping around him, turning him back into a Hylian. The silver vanished with his wolf senses, and Link suddenly found himself surrounded by something just as frightening. He and Midna were trapped in a whirlwind of stinging sand, through which weird and otherworldly forms danced, howling like the wind.

The silhouettes of sleek and streamlined Zora swam through the sand, and the rumbling of Goron drums pulsed from towering rock-creatures slamming their sand made fists against the ground. Creatures prowled and leapt and flew; humanoid figures seemed to reach out towards the two adventurers trapped in the midst of the roiling sand.

Link's hand grasped the hilt of his sword and drew it from the sheath across his back. He heard the metal rasp, even against the howling of the sand beasts. Beside him, Midna's orange hair leapt into life, glowing and moving like something alive as she seized her Twilit magic. No words were spoken between them; when it came to battle there were never any words to be said. Nor was there fear, only a serene sense of calm that blanketed reason and let Link's sword do the thinking. With the barest flicker of a nod in Midna's direction, Link turned and raced into the blowing clouds of sand, blade making wide sweeps before him.

Midna was lost from view amid the thrashing clouds of sand, and all around Link the half-shapes of creatures whipped past. He struck out with his sword, only to see it harmlessly pass right through the shapes as though they were nothing but, well, sand. He fought for his life against an enemy he could not so much as touch. The grains stung his skin and burned his eyes, and made him cough with each breath as sand filled his lungs.

Somewhere close by, and yet for all purposes as good as a thousand miles away, flashes of orange magic were cutting uselessly through the sandstorm. Midna was shouting his name, unable to find him. He tried to shout back, but as he opened his mouth the sands cut at his throat; choked him. Link collapsed to his knees, the very desert terrain writhing beneath him. He looked up desperately, and saw the shifting being standing before him.

Made half of sand, half of mere patterns of light and mirage, the outline of a stooped man with something large slung across his back looked down on Link as the Hero fought against the scouring particles. The hopeless, ridiculous thought came that if the shape had been possessed of a face, then its expression would have been amusement.

_"Link of Ordon."_ It spoke in Lanayru's voice. _"Stop fighting. Let the desert do what it will."_

"I… can't!" he coughed, chocking. The sands were piling up all around him, trying to bury him forever.

_"Let the desert do what it will," _the sand-form repeated.

Link, fighting to the last breath, reached out one desperate, groping hand, trying to grasp the man by the ankle, but he dissolved back into the whirling sand. The Hero fell to his stomach, dragged down by the sheer weight of the sand clinging to his tunic, his hair, his skin. He managed to roll over onto his back, but could only watch as the sand covered him like a blanket of coarse, stinging, snow. Then it swathed even his eyes, and the world was left in silence and darkness.

**-o{}o-**

A scent.

A strange scent, not discovered by the wolf's senses, but strong enough for even his Hylian nose to pick it up.

A water scent, filled with nearly sick-making traces of fish and plant decay, and above all the overpowering stench of salt.

A sound in the air: a steady throbbing _rush_… _rush_… _rush_…

Link drifted slowly in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware that his triforce hand was warm, and that the sandpaper rawness of his skin was slowly fading away. How nice it was to lie here with his eyes closed, half awake and half asleep, listening to the rushing murmur of sound, like waves against the shores of Lake Hylia.

That wasn't right. He was in a desert; there was no water.

Something in Link's brain clicked into place, and memory came back in a confusion of images and sounds. Panic filled him at remembering the supernatural sandstorm. Where was Midna; was she alright, was she even _alive_? The Hero sat up hurriedly, dislodging a shower of sand in the process, and stared around in urgency. His purpose was, however, somewhat delayed, as he was seized by a bought of racking coughs and spent the next five minutes bringing up all the sand and dust that had settled in his lungs.

When he finally emerged, lungs and throat burning but otherwise feeling a great deal better, Link wiped as much of the sand as he could from his face and eyes, stood, and attempted once again to look around.

The dunes swept down into a long sheet of smooth white sand, and against this plain rushed thunderous waves of water, ebbing and flowing with a roar of churning foam. The water stretched for miles in every direction: wider than Lake Hylia, wider than every body of water in Hyrule put together. It extended far beyond the horizon until it seemed as though that vast sheet of churning waves reached right to the end of the sky.

Behind him, a voice that was hoarse and raspy but still unmistakably Midna's let out a low whistle of admiration. "I don't remember _that_ being there before."

Link turned around with relief, glad, but not overly surprised, to find her unharmed. When it came to looking after herself, Midna was far from helpless. Regardless, the Twilight Princess was a complete mess: her beautiful bluish skin seemed rubbed raw, her hair had come out of its neat headdress and hung limp and ragged down her back, her clothes were dusty with clinging sand, and her parched lips had cracked and bled. She still managed to grin at him, and then winced as her lip split again and a fresh trail of blood began to ooze. Link grimaced just looking at her, and wondered if he himself looked as bedraggled.

Midna put a finger to her lips, and frowned at it when it came away bloody. "I don't know about you," she muttered, "But I feel like I've been gargling sand. I'd kill for a drink of water right now."

Link cast a dubious glance at the sandy shoreline, doubting that any water with a scent that salty could be safe to drink. "We brought some water with us in the bottles," he answered instead. Midna gave him a thankful look that suggested he might just be the most wonderful person on earth.

**-o{}o-**

They walked along the shore, letting the cool saltwater waves lap at their bare ankles (Link had left his boots somewhere behind, intending to go back for them later), and passing one of their glass bottles back and forth between them. The bottled water was lukewarm at best, but it felt like heaven against their scoured throats.

Link wished his triforce had the power to heal Midna as well as himself; she kept coughing, and the bleeding from her lips only had the chance to grow tacky before another bout of coughing cracked them open again. She wasn't in any immediate danger, but Link could sympathize that neither was she at all comfortable.

They were walking merely to have something to do, following the gentle curve of the shoreline because it was better than sitting in the sun among the hot dunes. Neither said a word at first about where they were or how they had gotten there, or else how all the water had gotten there if they had in fact remained stationary. It was, Link knew, unnatural, magic.

Midna was the first to speak. "So," she said between gulps of water, and Link was relieved to hear that her voice sounded a bit better. "That sandstorm. I've never seen anything like that before." She stated it like a fact, but Link caught the note of question in her voice.

"Me neither. I've never _smelled_ anything like it before." She gave him a flat look and he explained, "It had a smell. Sharp and silver and painful. As a wolf it felt like I was drowning in it."

"It's magic," Midna stated. "Wild magic." She coughed a bit and drank down the rest of the water. "Did I ever tell you about where I went to school?"

This seemed like a drastic change of topic, but Midna did that a lot in conversation. Link, caught off guard, merely shook his head in confusion and wondered what she was getting at.

"It was called the Tower of Magic," she said. "It was where all the Twili nobles sent their children; a little like the boarding schools I've seen in Castle Town. I took classes in politics and writing, and about a thousand other things. One of those things was magic. They taught us that magic has rules, just like science. You can only make it do so much. The magic in that sandstorm…" She brushed a lot of sand off of her blouse as if illustrating her point. "That magic didn't follow any of the rules. You see? Wild magic. Magic that shouldn't even exist."

The Hero gave that some thought. "Maybe it's just following a different set of laws."

"There's only one set of laws," Midna grumbled, and changed the subject again. "I think it's safe to say we're lost. Do you want to warp back to the edge of the desert and try again?"

A pang of guilt shot through Link as he realized how much time they had already lost. Starting over again would add hours to their quest; hours that Ilia might not have. But Midna was right. They were lost, and the reasonable thing to do would be to find their bearings again. He nodded, and she reached through the Shadow Crystal with her magic to turn him back into a wolf so they could warp.

A moment passed.

Nothing happened.

Midna looked up at Link with a strangely frustrated look on her face. "Um… give me a minute." She closed her eyes and appeared to concentrate very hard, her brows furrowing and her fists clenching tightly. Link waited patiently, growing a little worried, especially after Midna began cursing under her breath. Something was wrong.

The Twilight Princess's eyes flew open, and her orange hair flashed angrily as she summoned up the Shadow Crystal. It appeared in her hands; one thousand tiny particles of dust coming together like a reverse explosion to form the jagged object of black stone. Her hands tightened over it until the knuckles turned white. "Why… won't… this… thing… work…?!"

Without warning Midna furiously thrust the thing into Link's chest, and he stepped back with a stammered protest. "Midna, stop, I can't touch it, remember?"

"Take it!" she nearly shouted at him, and he could see something like panic in her eyes. "Take it so I'll know that it's the crystal that's broken! So I'll know it's not me!"

She couldn't turn him into a wolf again. And she was worried that it was somehow her fault, that something was wrong with her, that she was broken. When had Midna started thinking like that? To appease her, to assure her of whatever it was she wanted to know, Link reached out and took the Shadow Crystal.

The crystal felt cold and dead in his hands, devoid of magic. Merely an interesting formation of orange and black rock with no malevolence that pulled at his mind and gave the wolf control. It couldn't harm him, and it definitely couldn't transform him.

_But I wanted it to, didn't I,_ said his inner voice, the one who loved Midna over Ilia. He was really growing to hate that voice. _I wanted to be the wolf._

_Only so we could warp,_ he argued.

_Liar._

Relief flooded Midna's eyes, and was almost immediately replaced by her usual smugness, yet it struck Link just how lost she had seemed a moment before, like a completely different person. Or had that been nothing more than his imagination playing tricks? Midna took the crystal from his hands and banished it again. "Defective," she muttered. "All the magic in that sandstorm must have overloaded it or something. I wonder if there are any magicians around here that could fix it…"

Wherever "here" was. Link idly checked the position of the sun and noted that it was beginning to sink due west of them, out across the water.

"We might as well keep going west," he reasoned, more to himself than to Midna, who was still grumbling about the crystal's faulty magic.

"I could still feel magic on it," Midna complained, "And you were right. I never thought about magic having… colors… before, but I guess it did make me think of silver."

"Midna?"

"Yeah, west," she murmured without really paying attention. "Uhg, it's got me all messed up now."

"No, Midna, _look_."

Link tugged on her arm to get her to look up, and heard the small noise of surprise she made as she saw what he was seeing. There was a figure walking toward them along the beach, and even at such a great distance it was easy to make out its sleek, muscular frame and unusual, swaying stride, vaguely familiar and yet like nothing they had ever seen before.

Link's hand had strayed up to the hilt of the sword on his back, and he gripped it, ready to draw. "Midna, could you summon my boots?" Wordlessly she worked her magic, and the cool waves were suddenly lapping around the leather of Link's boots, which had appeared instantly on his bare feet. Whatever this creature was, Link was prepared to fight it, and he had a feeling that Midna had some particularly nasty magic in store as well.

His tension was alleviated a moment later however, as the creature waved one hand in the air and hailed them with: "Hey, dudes, what's up? Anybody at this party play guitar?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Zant's brother…

…sat at one end of the long black table in his parents' dining hall and gazed unseeingly down at the tasteful arrangement of food on the plate in front of him. Pale white meat, spiced with salt and herbs to mask its blandness, and a few steamed slices of the large bitter green vegetables that grew only in the realm of twilight. There was wine as well, shining golden in its tumbler of greenish-blue glass. Zant had been angry about that; that Rhent got to drink wine at meals and he did not, and had thrown one of his infamous fits, falling to his knees and pounding his fists on the ground and screaming wordlessly until their exasperated mother had finally had to half-drag him to his room and lock him in, shouting over the noise of his muffled screeching filtering through the crack beneath the tall black door that he could come down to dinner when he calmed down and started acting his age.

Zant was five years old, and Rhent was nearing thirty. Twili lived a long time, and it wasn't uncommon for siblings to have gaps of decades between them. By the time Zant was born Rhent had already moved out of the house and was making a decent living as a Healer. Which was not common at all, especially among the low-class nobility who often passed down their houses to their children and did no work for a living, preferring to survive off of the accumulated wealth of generations and, of course, their titles.

His parents hadn't approved of his choice of lifestyle. The day he moved out had been a day of shouted arguments, tearing up on his mother's part, and the ugly surfacing of those demon-like tempers that coursed through the blood of the men in Rhent's family. The Healer had never before been aware that he possessed an anger as strong as that he had seen in his father on numerous occasions. It proved to be a learning experience; finding himself shouting at his parents about how they had no control over him, that he didn't want to spend his life moldering away as some minor politician in a government so dominated by the Twili royal family that his opinion would have counted for nothing anyway, and that he had a _purpose_ in life. He had been born a Healer. All the natural magic in his body was fine-tuned to medicinal spells, and along with it came the will to use it, the will to make a difference in the world. His parents wanted him to go into politics, and for that he shouted, having never raised his voice before in his life. And after that one shouting match, he had no desire to do so again. He had stormed out, and for a few years he hadn't come back.

When he finally did return, if only for a visit, his mother had welcomed him with open arms, and his father with a steely calculating silence that seemed to state that there were no words left to be said, at least on that particular topic. To Rhent's father, Rhent was a lost cause; the son that had shamed the family name, and it was too late to do anything about it.

This dinner was one of Rhent's rare visits, and by the look of the first course the family chef -Rhent's family may have been only minor nobles, but they had their pride, and no noble however minor would be caught dead without kitchen staff- had put forth his best effort to make it enjoyable. That in itself was quite the feat: the food of the Twilight Realm was mostly flavorless, and it was difficult to think of eating as anything more than a mechanical act of survival, like breathing or falling asleep. It took real skill to make meals truly pleasurable, and Rhent had to admit that the thing he missed most about home was the chef's ability to do just that. Unlike the food the wine was highly pungent, and Rhent regretted slightly that he didn't drink. Which of course he had told his mother numerous times, yet she always insisted on breaking out the best vintage whenever he stopped by for dinner. This was, he suspected, one of the reasons why his father tolerated his visits: even an estranged discrace to the family name had worth in a man's eyes when said discrace could convince his wife to loosen her restrictions about the wine.

"So, Rhent." Rhent looked up to see his mother smiling at him from across the table, dressed in her best black and blue-green evening robes and with her long orange-yellow, almost greenish hair surrounding her face in wavy curls that were no doubt the result of some carefully done beauty spell. She was putting forth her best presence for him, the one she normally wore for events of state and formal parties hosted by the royal family. It hurt Rhent a bit to be shown how few and far-between his visits to his family had become, that every time he arrived at their door it was suddenly a special occasion as rare as the royal family's grand galas.

"You must tell us what you've been up to," she continued, beaming. "I've been hearing so much about you lately. Apparently, you've gone up in the world."

"I have," he admitted, unable to keep a small smile off his face. What his father failed to realize was that there was more than one way to become someone important. Hard work took longer, but in the end it could outshine any inherited title. "I've been offered a professorship at the Tower of Magic."

"Oh Rhent, that's wonderful!" She smiled proudly. "The Tower of Magic! That's the most prominent school the Realm! They only take the best of the best, you know."

_No,_ thought Rhent, _they only take spoiled, rich children whose parents have enough political influence to get them enrolled. _But still, there was some genuine magical talent in that student body. What Rhent had to keep reminding himself was that most of the Twili nobility had gotten where it was today by fighting tooth and nail with each other in the endless power struggles which bathed most of the Twilight Realm's history in blood. They were still in positions of power because somewhere along their family lines, their ancestors were _really good_ at what they did. It only made sense for some of that old blood to have seeped down through the generations into their children. Those students who weren't particularly magically gifted possessed the potential for wickedly sharp minds, and the Tower of Magic specialized in ploughing through the layers of stupidity left by years of being spoiled by their parents and honing those minds into something formidable. The students who left the tower were drastically changed from when they had entered. And the job of changing them went to professors carefully selected because they stood out in their field. Rhent, apparently, stood out.

"It's perfect timing, too," his mother added. "Zant's going to be attending the Tower next year. Won't he be excited to know his brother will be teaching him!"

"Next year?" Rhent asked, confused. "He won't be old enough, will he?" The last time he checked, Zant was five years old, and children didn't normally enroll in the Tower until they were ten, or in some cases, even older. Or had he gotten so out of touch with his kin that his little brother had grown up without him realizing?

"Oh yes, I know he's a few years younger than what would normally be accepted, but your father and I had a talk with the administrator, and we worked everything out." A mischievous light played in her eyes. "Zant's gone up in the world too. All of his private tutors have been noticing it lately; his abilities with magic are drastically increasing. They're far above what's normal for his age. Your little brother," she announced, "Is a child prodigy."

"About time one of my sons amounted to something," Rhent's father grumbled from where he sat a little apart from them at the head of the table, speaking to no one in particular. Rhent didn't bother to take this as an insult. The enmity between himself and his father had become a sort of family joke, especially when the wine was flowing freely. Apparently being appointed to a professorship at the Tower of Magic didn't count as "amounting to something."

Rhent's father was tall and milky-blue skinned, like most Twili, and his hair was short like his sons' and deep red in color. He hadn't bothered dressing up formally for the occasion, and his house-robe looked out of place next to his wife's finery. He rested a calculating gaze on Rhent. Calculating was the type of gaze he was best at. "Zant will be receiving the family title, since you don't seem to want it."

Well, Rhent had known that for a long time, and in fact awaited the day. It had been a relief when Zant was born and his father had another child to pass the title to, like a heavy weight lifting from his shoulders. Let his baby brother play the game of politics for a while. Who knew, maybe he'd turn out to be good at it.

"Rhent," his mother said, changing the subject, "As long as Zant's attending the Tower… I was wondering if you could use this as an opportunity to get to know him a little better." That was something she had brought up before in conversation: Rhent, perhaps you could spend some time with your brother today; Rhent, why don't you take Zant out and do something fun, just the two of you; Rhent, would you mind showing your brother a little bit of healing magic, I'm sure he'd love to learn from you… It seemed to trouble his mother that he and Zant weren't at all close. Rhent didn't understand how they could be when they so rarely saw each other, but since it made his mother happy, he always tried to spend time with Zant when he stopped by. Mostly this involved sitting in the same room with his brother in awkward silence while Zant went about whatever it was he had been doing as if Rhent wasn't there.

"I'll see what I can do," he answered, making no promises.

She smiled thankfully at him. "My little boy is going to change the world someday. You'll see."

**-o{}o-**

Rhent was no longer bound, magically or otherwise, but he still couldn't move. His muscles seemed far too heavy and sluggish, his limbs dead weight, and as he slowly drifted back into consciousness after a long bout of troubled dreams, his eyes refused to focus, sending him only blurred images of meaningless shapes and shadows. He remained this way, feeling as if he was floating in a void of emptiness, for an undetermined amount of time, perhaps minutes, perhaps even hours. It was impossible to know. Even his thoughts were too slow, drifting hazily across his mind, and disjointed as they were they made no sense. Memories of having dinner with his family, so many years ago. Useless, painful memories, because they brought up repressed thoughts of parents who were long dead, and a little brother who had died insane by Midna's hand.

Despite what the guards had said… And the thought came, _what guards? There were guards, but I can't remember…_ Despite what the guards had said, he felt no enmity towards Princess Midna. Zant's death had, at least, been quick and painless; a merciful release from the psychological torment slowly eating away at his sanity. If anything, Rhent blamed Zant's new religion, the supposed "god" called Ganondorf that had wormed its evil way into his little brother's head and whispered to Zant that he didn't have to fight the madness; that the madness was a powerful weapon to be used for whatever it was Zant desired. And perhaps Rhent resented Zant for believing him.

Eventually another thought drifted slowly across his mind. _What happened to me?_ And because he was a Healer, he felt obligated to add to this, _have I gone into shock?_ It seemed likely: he had all the symptoms of physical shock. _But I should feel cold. Instead, I don't feel anything._

He could remember warmth; a strange, light-magic warmth that burned at his hands as he reached out to touch it. Light-magic… His thoughts drifted to light-magic, and to Midna, before being lost in the cold emptiness again.

_A Stupor_, he realized blankly. _I've been put under a Stupor…_

**-o{}o-**

Another memory surfaced, a scene from his years as a professor at the Tower. Zant, now fourteen, lying motionless on the long black couch in Rhent's private office, his face lit by the dull twilight-golden ambience from the glowing clouds outside the row of tall windows along one wall. Rhent's own voice speaking patiently as it tried to alleviate some of the fear filling Zant's wide eyes.

"It's not going to hurt. It's called Delving. It's a type of magic Healers use to find out if there's something wrong with you."

"Is there something wrong with me?" Zant whispered in a choked voice, and from the way he spoke Rhent could tell he had been crying. He wasn't surprised. After all, Zant was prone to frequent, sometimes violent mood-swings. Which was why they were doing this Delving in the first place, in Rhent's office and far away from the curious eyes of other students and professors. Because Rhent suspected very strongly, and had suspected so for a long time, that yes, there was something very wrong with Zant.

"We'll find out now, won't we," the Healer said, trying to sound cheerful. "Just lay back and breathe deeply, and let your natural magic work with mine."

"I can't do that," murmured Zant.

"Can't do what?"

"Can't let you just… magic me. You're going to read my mind or something, aren't you?"

"That is a part of Delving," Rhent admitted. "But it's not as awful as you seem to think. I won't be able to hear your thoughts; just the chemical balance in your brain. Any secrets you have should be safe from me." Rhent had a feeling he knew exactly what secret Zant wanted to keep hidden, and from the way he had seen his little brother casting wistful glances at a certain girl whenever the two passed in the hallways, it wasn't as secret as Zant seemed to think.

Zant still didn't seem assured. "I don't know…" he said, more to himself then to Rhent. "I think I've changed my mind." He sat up abruptly on the couch and looked Rhent in the eyes with a commanding expression that echoed of a career as a great politician somewhere in his future. "I've changed my mind."

Rhent's face remained serene, but inwardly he frowned. It had taken him weeks to persuade Zant to agree to this session in the first place, and now his brother was backing out at the last minute. Rhent should have just let him go, he supposed, but he was curious. He and Zant both knew that there was something not quite right about Zant's mind, and the mood swings only scratched the surface of it. Hurriedly, Rhent laid a hand on Zant's shoulder to keep him from getting up.

"Think about this, Zant. If there _was_ something wrong with you… I'm not saying there is, but if there _was_… Wouldn't you want to know about it?"

Zant smacked Rhent's hand away angrily. "You'd tell everyone," he hissed, all traces of tears gone from his voice now, to be replaced by a steely mistrust. "I'm the best at everything, you know. I'm smarter than all the other students, and I'm better at magic, and if you tell everyone that I'm…" his mouth moved soundlessly, fishing for the appropriate word, "…crazy, then you'll _ruin_ it!" He was nearing hysterics now, and Rhent tried at once to calm him down.

"No one would have to know anything I find in this Delve. Nothing we say here will ever leave this room."

"Liar!" Zant shouted at him, slamming a fist down with force onto one arm of the couch, and Rhent winced at the cracking sound it made as the expensive piece of furniture broke. Not that he particularly cared about the couch, but Zant was lucky it hadn't been his hand that had broken -furniture punching was not a healthy habit. "Stupid, stinking, dirty, rotten, _liar_!" Zant's fists beat against the cusions of the couch with every word. "I don't want to do this anymore! _I don't want to do this anymore_!!"

Rhent barely managed to raise his own magical shields in time to stop Zant's writhing tendrils of magic from lashing out at him and killing him on the spot. Zant threw himself to the floor and began thrashing his arms wildly, mouth open in a siren scream of wordless rage. A fourteen-year-old throwing a two-year-old's fit.

The Healer bent down on one knee, careful to keep his invisible shields in place and all too aware of his brother's magic beating against them. "I'm going to lay a Stupor on you, Zant," he explained calmly, though he doubted at that point that Zant could hear anything Rhent was saying over the sound of his own screaming. "It will help you calm down. Then I'm going to Delve you, and we're going to find out why this keeps happening, alright? And no matter what I find, I'll never tell another living soul about it. I promise."

**-o{}o-**

Yes, a Stupor, that was the word he was looking for. A type of healing magic which rendered the receiver lethargic and incapable of coherent thought. He himself had used it on many occasions. A Stupor had the property of dulling pain, and could when used correctly calm panic and render someone motionless without having to bind them. It had been invaluable when treating the Fever, and by now Rhent was quite adept at casting it.

_But I don't have the Fever._ _Someone has used the Stupor on me… as a weapon._ Memories again of Midna, and strange, painfully bright golden magic, and two Twili guards striking him across the face…

_"I saw _you_ attacking the princess with your magic!"_

_"I was trying to _help_ her! What would I stand to gain from killing the princess?!"_

_"On your feet, traitor! What would you gain? Revenge, maybe?!"_

_"The Twili nobles have been watching you, Rhent."_

_"Everyone expected something like this, since you're Zant's brother…"_

And sharper than ever was the sudden rush of memory; a voice ringing in his ears, shouting accusations that pierced him to the soul.

_"You are under arrest for the murder of the Twilight Princess!"_

Sweet unholy mother of Jalhalla. Midna was _dead_.

Like a too-taut rope reaching the limit of its tension and snapping apart, the Stupor magic that had Rhent in its clutches shattered. The Healer was suddenly, sharply, _painfully_ aware of exactly what was going on.

He was lying curled up on the cold, filthy stone floor of a cell somewhere deep in the dungeons of the Palace of Twilight. His whole body ached, and with the return of his eyesight he could see massive black and purple bruises blossoming spectacularly against the pale blue of his skin, luminous in a darkness that was near absolute. His robes were gone. Twili normally had no concern for modesty, but Rhent found himself desperately missing his clothes; the icy coolness of the ground seemed to seep through his unprotected skin and into his bones, making him shiver.

There was a sound. A door opening, somewhere far away. Raising his head slightly and wincing as he did so, for it hurt to even move, Rhent could make out the shapes of two all-too-familiar Twili guards coming towards him out of the gloom. The blue-green runes spiraling around their arms glowed softly and illuminated their stoic faces. They no longer looked angry, but grim.

"He's waking up."

Rhent closed his eyes and let his head fall to the ground again, silently bracing himself for the painful beating that was sure to follow. But one of the guards merely nudged him with their foot and muttered, "Come on, we know you're awake. Get up."

"Might take a while for the Stupor to wear off," the other guard suggested, and the first gave a grunt and reached down, grabbed Rhent by the arm, and hauled him to his feet.

"Wake up." A painful slap across the face, not with as much force as those he had received upon his capture, but magnified by dint of landing on skin already tender with bruising. Rhent gave an involuntary gasp and opened his eyes to find the first guard's face inches from his own. "If you don't walk, we'll drag you," the guard commanded bluntly, and Rhent could do nothing but nod dazedly and obey.

The guards led him out of the darkness of the tiny cell and down the long expanse of an equally dark hallway. One guard walked in front to lead the way and the other followed behind, occasionally prodding Rhent in the back whenever the Healer's steps lagged. Rhent, meanwhile, focused only on staying calm; taking deep breaths and wrapping his arms tightly around his bare chest to hold in what little heat remained in his freezing body. If he hadn't gone into shock before he was certainly on the brink of it now. It occurred to him that they hadn't bound his hands again, and a slight amount of hope rose. The guards thought he was still being affected by the Stupor, lethargic and unable to use magic. They had no idea that his mind was clear and that his body, while cold, beaten, and bruised, was now fully under his control.

Rhent had always been fairly gifted at magic. Nothing compared to Zant, of course, but still powerful. Were his abilities at magic enough to overpower both guards?

_No, what am I thinking?_ _I'd have to… to _kill_ them! I can't do that!_ Never before in his life had Rhent even considered using magic as a weapon. The prospect of it seemed somehow vile. Still, the idea wouldn't go away. He had been wrongfully accused, imprisoned without trial. They were probably taking him to his execution even as the thought crossed his mind. He had the element of surprise, and his magic was enough to subdue the guards, he was sure. He could escape…

But he knew he couldn't do it.

He didn't want to die, but he couldn't bring himself to kill.

_Still…_

Whoever said he had to overpower them with magic?

And the idea morphed into something new, something just as vile and yet strangely appealing. _The Twili anatomy; so complex. So many brittle bones, so easily broken._

Yes, he could do _that_, couldn't he…

They had reached the end of the hallway, and the guards now led Rhent through a doorway and into a small room filled with the soft greenish-blue glow of the rune-symbols worked around its grey walls. In the center of the room, sitting at a plain black table and gazing at Rhent with emotionless eyes, was a Twili woman about Rhent's age. Her long black and blue-green fringed robes cascaded to the floor in billows, and her pale hair (yellow-green, and somewhat reminiscent of Rhent's mother's) was done up in a headdress as elaborate as any that Midna herself might have worn. It was the costume of someone who should have been sitting on a throne somewhere, not down in the dark and filthy dungeons, interrogating prisoners.

The guards pushed Rhent into the solitary chair across the table from her and took up their positions behind him. The Healer immediately pulled his knees up to his chest in order to save his bare feet from any more contact with the freezing floor. The fact that no one else in the room seemed the least bit concerned with the cold told him that it was only he who felt it, and consequently that he was definitely going into shock. He shuddered again.

"Rhent." The woman's voice sounded almost echoingly within the tiny space and Rhent finally looked up from the table and met her eyes. Her expression was unreadable. "Everyone was saying it, but you know, until I actually came down here to see for myself, I still couldn't believe it was _you_."

A small, hopeless smile crossed Rhent's face. "H-hello, Knock."

Princess Nocturine was a distant cousin of Midna's, and her closest living relative. From the way she was dressed it was immediately clear to Rhent who was now sitting on the throne of the Palace of Twilight. Nocturine had a reputation for being somewhat wild and unpredictable, something that she and Midna had in common. It was strange to see her now with such a deadpan expression. At Rhent's words, however, that expression immediately cracked into a sardonic grin.

"I haven't been called that since I was a kid at the Tower. Hey, Rhent, how's life?"

Ah yes, and she'd always possessed her cousin's irreverent sense of humor. "I've b-been beaten, stripped, and th-thrown into a d-dungeon," Rhent muttered through chattering teeth.

"Oh, right." Her smile slipped. "Why'd you do it, Rhent? A professor at the Tower, supervisor of every sickhouse in the realm, Midna's personal physician? I mean, it seems like you had everything going for you. So why'd you kill her?"

"I d-didn't."

Nocturine sighed. "Rhent. Do you remember when we were students at the Tower of Magic?"

He remembered. It had been a long time ago, back before he had discovered that Healing was his true calling. Back when he had been only ten years old and there was no Zant, and Rhent was an only child -doomed to inherit his father's hated title. Back when he had known for a fact that his future was in politics, and that his life seemed to spiraling uncontrollably down in a direction that he was afraid to go…

And then at the tower he had met the wild, witty Nocturine, who couldn't care less what her parents expected of her future because she fully intended on doing whatever she pleased.

They had become inseparable: Nocturine and Rhent, Rhent and Nocturine. Best friends forever. Or at least best friends until Rhent had had a falling out with his father and renounced his title for good, while at the same time Nocturine had given in to her parents and finally taken up her inherited position as a member of the Twili royal family. He supposed he would have married her if not for that. Now here in this dark, freezing dungeon, it suddenly struck Rhent that this was the first true conversation he and Knock had had with each other in about twenty years.

"Do you remember when we were students together?" she repeated, and when he didn't respond, she added, "Well, _I_ do. I was always the rule breaker back then. We used to sneak out of the dorms at night and break in to the alchemy labs so we could try out all the difficult spells we weren't allowed to learn yet. And you'd say it was a bad idea and that we'd get caught, but you always came anyway. And the one time we _did_ get caught, you took all the blame and let me get away."

He remembered that too. He'd almost been expelled, in fact, but he'd known that he had to take all the blame because while his record was spotless, Knock had already gotten into plenty of trouble before. He'd taken the blame because he knew they'd go easy on him and not on her. And because she was his best friend and it was the right thing to do.

Nocturine narrowed her yellow eyes at him and leaned forward. "And I want to know why _that_ Rhent, the Rhent who always did the right thing, even when it hurt… I want to know why he killed the Twilight Princess."

"I…" He was so cold, so very cold. "I d-didn't kill her." He had to explain himself, though he knew it would probably earn him another painful beating when Nocturine was gone, if only to gain her trust back. If no one else in the entire twilight realm believed him, she at least had to. He was Zant's brother, his word tainted by blood and mere association, and if Knock, his closest childhood friend, couldn't trust him, then he might as well stop trying. There was no one else.

"I d-didn't kill P-princess Midna. That was something else; there was this p-power in the air, this light m-magic, and it attacked her and…" _Calm down,_ he tried to tell himself. _You're babbling. Calm down and tell her what happened. This is Nocturine. Knock. Your friend. She'll believe you._ He took a few shaky breaths and tried again. "Light m-magic. It came from the g-gap between dimensions and attacked the princess. She t-tried to f-fight it, but it was t-too… t-too strong, and so I helped her. To the guards it m-must have looked like I was attacking her, b-but I _helped_ her. I t-tried to save her life, but I failed." Rhent finally lapsed into silence. So very cold, and so very, very tired…

"She's d-dead. I d-didn't… d-didn't k-kill her but she's dead." His voice sounded dead as well.

Nocturine's face was blank, and though Rhent sought for some flicker of belief in those expressionless eyes, there was none to be found. "I want to believe you," she said quietly. "I'm the Twilight Princess right now, did you know that? And even with that going for me I still had to bully a lot of stuck-up nobles just to get this interview with you. I wanted to be able to come down here and hear for myself what happened. I thought this was all a mistake, and that whatever it was you had to tell me would explain it all away."

There was anger creeping into her eyes now; betrayal. "I ordered the guards not to hurt you anymore. Mother of Jalhalla, Rhent, I cancelled your _execution_!" She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment, allowing her face to become smooth again. "I really do want to believe you, Rhent, but if you're lying… Well, it wouldn't be the first time."

"I h-helped her…" he persisted blearily. The room was growing strangely dark around him and it took all his conscious effort merely to keep his eyes focused. So freezing, icy cold…

The Twili woman nodded solemnly and looked up at the guards standing at attention just behind Rhent. "Leave us for a minute."

"What? But Princess Nocturine…" one of the guards began to protest, but Nocturine cut him off snappishly.

"I said go away. You think Rhent's going to hurt me? Look at him, he's barely conscious! Go wait outside or something."

Grumbling angrily, the two guards stalked out of the room. Nocturine waited until their voices had faded away down the hallway before meeting Rhent's eyes again. "If you really want to help," she stated, "Then tell me everything you know about _this_." She produced a large object from the folds of her robes, and Rhent recognized it instantly as the strange stone that had appeared on Midna's throne the instant she vanished. It had been wrapped in a filmy sheet of translucent black gauze to keep its light-magic from burning Nocturine's skin as she touched it. She set it down on the table between them with a _thud_ and the gauze fell away, revealing spiraling symbols carved into the stone's surface, glowing with an otherworldly light.

A wave of blessed warmth seemed to emanate from the stone and ease the chill permeating the dungeons, and Rhent's shivering subsided a bit.

"According to the guards, this is the weapon you used to do… whatever it was you did… to Midna," Nocturine informed him. "And they wouldn't exactly be happy about my showing it to you, especially since the only people who know it exists right now are them and me. I want to know what it is and what it does." She was watching him expectantly.

"I don't know-" he began, but then…

_Pain._

It rolled in waves off the stone; horrible hot searing blinding light-magic pain, pain that sprung from a kind of magic that was never meant for the Twili people to wield. Rhent was suddenly writhing in a world of blinding white-gold light that burned at his skin, his mind, and a voice was roaring in his ears.

_"Healer Rhent."_

He couldn't respond. He could do nothing but wish for it to end.

_"I am Lanayru, the Hylian Light Spirit of Wisdom. Though my voice causes you pain, shadow-being that you are, you must hear my words. The Twilight Princess lives! She travels now in the world of light, seeking the cure that will save her people. I therefore place this task upon your shoulders: guard my Summoning Stone. Protect it with your life so that she may succeed!"_

And all at once the voice was gone and Rhent found himself once more in the gloom of the dungeon, the icy cold creeping up his back and the light-magic heat warm on his face, Nocturine sitting across the table from him and waiting for his answer as if nothing had happened.

Rhent gaped at her, openmouthed, for a moment. She had felt nothing, had heard nothing…

_The Twilight Princess lives._

_Midna is alive._

_And her life_

_Hangs in the balance_

_Inseparably connected_

_To this_

_Stone._

He knew this, suddenly, as if it had been engraved in shining letters onto the front of his skull. Lanayru had placed the knowledge into his head and there it swirled around and around and around again…

_Midna is alive_

_Inseparably connected_

_This stone_

_To this stone_

_Protect…_

And he knew that Midna was _not_ dead and that he hadn't failed her and that he, her Healer, her loyal servant, was needed to protect her once again. He was a Healer. He helped people. He would help Midna, because she was his ruler and that was his job, his calling, the very reason his body possessed magic. And because it was the right thing to do. Even though it was going to hurt.

"Rhent…" Nocturine began, and the Healer abruptly realized how he must look, shivering with the cold and with glazed eyes that stared right through her, deep in thought. Another particle of knowledge drifted to the forefront of his mind, another tidbit of information that the Wisdom Spirit had had the grace to give him.

Nocturine was worried about him; terrified for him. It had ripped her apart inside to hear how cruelly the guards had beaten him, and now, seeing him in this defeated, hopeless state, only served to worsen the wound. She didn't believe his story (And how could she, when it made no sense even to him?) but she _wanted_ to. And even though she believed him to be the murderer who had killed her cousin, even though she looked down on him and wondered how this could even be the same person she had gone to school with all those years ago, she was still his friend. Their lives had gone in completely different directions, but she still loved him. She was still his wild-eyed Knock.

When she spoke again, he knew why. "Are you alright?"

Rhent sat huddled in his chair with the pain throbbing through his skin and the cold seeping into his bones and slowly shutting his shivering body down from the inside, and with the darkness of impending unconsciousness eddying in the corners of his eyes. Slowly, painfully, he smiled.

"I am now."

And he launched himself across the table and wrapped his hands around the stone.

Instantly the pain flared. Hot and burning, the glowing spirals on the stone suddenly burst into brilliance and Rhent could feel the concentrated streams of light-magic cutting viciously through his skin. Nocturine was screaming, whether out of fear or surprise, or perhaps shock at seeing the black trails of blood that welled up between Rhent's fingers, and Rhent had to bite back the cries of pain that were massing in his own throat. His right hand left the stone (and he winced, for it felt as if the light-magic heat had fused his hand to the surface and to let go was to rip his own skin apart) and shot forward, striking the pressure point below Nocturine's throat before she had time to gather her wits enough to summon her magic and stop him. Her scream immediately cut off and, eyes still wide with horror, she crumpled back in her chair, unable to move.

Rhent stood back, holding the pain-inducing stone tightly in his hands, and her eyes followed him, pleading and unable to understand.

"I d-didn't kill her," Rhent repeated, his voice still shaking and the words coming out in a pained hiss. "All I've ever w-wanted was to help her. After Zant d-died… she was the only o-one who t-trusted me. She…" he shivered violently, and whether it was from the cold or the pain not even he could tell.

"I s-still owe her for th-that. I have to help… her. She's still… s-still… alive."

"Princess Nocturine!" Behind Rhent the stone door of the interrogation room slammed open, and one of the guards barreled through, alerted by Nocturine's screaming. Rhent spun around and grasped the man by the arm with one bleeding, cut up hand, and before the guard had the chance to so much as think the Healer was darting behind him, forcing the man's arm up the side of his back at a painful angle. _If I can set a bone, I can break it._ There was a horrible popping _crack_ that echoed around the tiny room and a look of agonizing pain crossed the guard's face as Rhent wrenched his shoulder out of its socket. Rhent released him. The guard collapsed to the ground, cradling his mangled arm against his body, in too much pain to access his magic.

It had been cleanly done. Any Healer in the realm could set the bone again. The guard would heal quickly and without any lasting effects. But as Rhent stepped shakily around the man's prone body and darted out into the dark hallway beyond, he couldn't stop the tirade of accusations from rambling on and on inside his head.

_Look what I've done! To use healing as a weapon; I'm no better than them, no better than Zant! Never again, never again… Vile! VILE!!!_

His head was spinning. His bare feet slipped and stumbled on the filthy, freezing stone floor and the darkness welled up and threatened to drag him under. He caught the wall for support, and his hand left a long black smear of blood. What was it he had said to Midna only a few hours before?

_"I assure you, my princess, my hands are clean."_

Not anymore. Not in any sense of the word.

_Vile… So cold… So very very cold…_

He had been stupid. These dungeons were a maze: he would never be able to find his way out. His body had betrayed him, his mind was loosing itself in a haze of cold and pain, and it was all for nothing, he was going to die down here in the darkness…

There were shouts far away down one of the long dark corridors. The second guard had gone for backup. Rhent could see nothing, only a dark blur, and his hands still clutching the stone burned and stung as though they were aflame. Voices… drawing nearer… getting louder… anger… calling his name… magic rising around him, ready to strike, this time to kill…

But it never got the chance. Rhent's eyes drooped and a moment later his legs gave way beneath him and he was falling, falling forever in the darkness. In his hands the Summoning Stone flared up with one last throb of heat and light, and then, before he even hit the ground, he knew no more.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

In many ways, the magic of Hyrule was like a tapestry. Finely and tightly woven on the unseen loom of the Goddesses, it spread out as if in threads, binding together Hyrule and its surrounding dimensions. And if magic was a tapestry, then the Goddesses' chosen hero had always been its centerpiece, its ballast, the weave of destiny forever winding around him, though he would never know it.

When somewhere far off in the shifting sands of the desert, Link of Ordon stepped between worlds, the currents of power in both worlds shifted ever so slightly. It was no great change; the people living in either world failed to even notice it. But there were those few beings whose lives were spent watching over the undertones of magic that moved silently among the worlds, and they took note.

Lanayru, the Spirit of Wisdom, had already known it would occur, but there were others to whom it came as a surprise...

"_Lanayru, what have you done?"_

In the void of gray haze that was perhaps the gap between dimensions, and perhaps someplace entirely more sacred, a gentle glow of light pulsed once in the misty gloom. There was no light here but what the Spirits brought with them.

Slowly, the glow brightened and resolved itself into the shape of a creature, a great golden monkey whose fur shimmered with sunlight, with a long bushy tail covered in spiraling stripes that burned like the heart of a fire, curling in a huge circle around its body. It clutched a sphere of light in its paws.

_"Lanayru, what have you done?" _it repeated, drumming its long, delicate fingers against the sphere and gazing around with a face that seemed almost human. _"Farore's chosen hero is in peril."_

Another pulse of light, and the Snake Spirit Lanayru rose from the swirling gray mists, its long body twisting around itself and glowing with light. The sphere in its mouth did nothing to hinder its speech; when the spirits communicated, it was with a magic that bypassed the ears and leapt straight into the mind. _"All of Hyrule is in peril," _the Spirit of wisdom responded, and the Monkey Spirit did an agitated summersault, its curling tail resembling the turning of a wheel. _"You have seen it yourself, Faron. If nothing is done, this sickness will eat away at Hyrule until there is nothing left. The hero is the only one who can end this suffering. This I have seen."_

_"You have sent the hero to his death," _another echoing voice joined in, and with a third throb of light, two more Spirits joined them, a shining goat with twisted horns from which its sphere hung suspended, and an owl with spiraling designs glowing against its mighty wings, its own sphere grasped securely in its talons. Eldin, the Owl Spirit, spoke again.

_"Where he goes, our magic cannot protect him."_

_"A world parallel to our own, as incorporeal and shifting as a dream," _Ordona the Goat confirmed, its hooves pawing at the mist. _"There are strange magics there that we understand nothing of."_

_"The triforce will protect him, and I have made arrangements to preserve Hyrule until his return," _Lanayru answered calmly, and Eldin beat its wings angrily.

_"I am the Spirit of Power, Lanayru! Do you think I cannot sense what you have done? Draining the magic of his sacred triforce to summon a being of the twilight, weakening it! Even I know not how much longer it will take for its magic to fail, but fail it will, and when it does there will be nothing to stop the next sword or arrow that pierces his heart."_

Lanayru's coils twisted slowly, the mist swirling eerily around the Spirit as it spoke. _"I have acted only as Nayru wills. This is in her hands now."_

**-o{}o-**

There was another being who noticed the shifting currents of power, but for him it was more a thing of curiosity. Day after day, decade after decade, he sat motionlessly atop his tower of stone and gazed out at a dead world whose magic had long ago gone stagnant.

If this world had once been beautiful it was impossible to tell. The terrain was a jagged conglomerate of sheer cliffs and narrow, serrated canyons through which gray waters ran, churned by rapids and poisoned by the sulfurous residue of ancient ash. Nothing grew here, save for a few decaying, twisted trees that clung forlornly to the soilless rocks. Droves of black carrion birds roosted in their branches. There had once been a city in this place, for on closer inspection some of the rock formations revealed themselves to be manmade structures: the remains of marble walls and toppled towers, slowly crumbling to gravel as the ages passed and the earth reclaimed their stones. Among the rubble, the dead walked with shuffling gaits. Their corpses glistened brown as the flesh slowly rotted away; their eyes gaping black holes above dead, sunken cheeks. Forever they shambled on, for their magic had stagnated and with it their world, and the paths that might have led their wandering souls to the next were no more.

Above it all, at the peak of his stone tower silhouetted against the gray-blanketed sky, the being sat and waited. For the longest time he knew not what he was waiting for.

But now his wait was over.

The undulation of strange, new, living, _breathing_ magic caused by Link and Midna's travel between worlds made ripples in the torpid magic of the dead kingdom, like the faintest of breezes in a room of hot, still air, and the creature turned his head to the west and watched as brilliant flashes of orange and gold played across the back of his mind. Powerful magic. Power he could feed upon, after all these centuries surviving off the dregs of tepid sorcery. The travelers had not yet entered the borders of the blighted kingdom that he claimed as his own, but they were close, so very close... Close enough to be drawn in, he was sure.

And perhaps...

One hand strayed up to his face, or rather, where his face _should_ have been, for all that met his fingers was the smooth surface of a simple wooden mask, painted in cheerful shades of red, yellow, green, and blue to resemble a smiling face. He hated it. It was ugly, a child's toy, a pitiful surrogate for the one thing he lacked, the one thing he could never have.

The creature had many names. Lantern-man was one. King of the Poes, Master of the Garo, Lord of Ikana, where the dead roamed free. Jalhalla, and because of what was beneath that grinning mask, some went on to say Jalhalla the Faceless.

Perhaps soon he would find himself a new face as well...

**-o{}o-**

The waves lapped playfully along the beach, roaring gently.

Link found it somewhat intriguing to imagine that if one were to take the bones of a few dozen small fish and expertly joint them together with thin wires, they then might give the illusion of the skeleton of a fish nearly as long as a man. And if one were to then take that massive skeleton, sewn together from so many smaller ones, and give that great fish the curves of a woman and elongate its tail and string thin metal wires down the length of its body, one might have something resembling a stringed instrument, like the guitars played by the street performers in Hyrule Castle Town's main plaza. And then, if one were to fill that fish skeleton guitar with some sort of intensely focused magical power, so that its strings forever hummed and vibrated as if their desire to create music was so strong that the mere absence of a musician couldn't hope to stop them...

Well, then one might come close to describing the thing that Link of Ordon inexplicably found himself holding in his hands.

One hand wrapped around the fish-tail neck of the guitar, Link experimentally plucked at a few strings. They buzzed not at all unpleasantly beneath his fingers.

The strange newcomer who had so recently approached them on the beach grinned at him with teeth so razor sharp and angulate that they may as well have been filed. It, or rather, _he, _was a Zora, but unlike any Zora the hero had ever laid eyes on before. The Zora of Hyrule's lakes and rivers were gray-green in color, with long, rosy, veil-like fins that drifted gracefully behind them as they glided through the murky water. This Zora was something entirely different. His translucent skin was a strikingly bright shade of turquoise mottled with white, and he had the build of a torpedo; broad, muscular shoulders, a narrow waist, and short, stiff fins made for cutting knifelike through the water – his entire body designed for speed. A superfluous triangular fin rose like a sail from the top of his forehead, and it was pierced by an earring made of some kind of coral.

Of course a saltwater Zora would look different than a freshwater one, Link reasoned. The violent way in which the waves at his feet churned back and forth hinted at savage currents beneath the surface of these deceptively blue waters; currents that would no doubt shred the delicate fins of a river Zora in an instant.

The Zora raised his arms and mimed strumming the strings of an invisible instrument. "Okay, so play me a G-chord."

"A what?" said Link, who knew just enough about music to be aware of how little he knew about music.

"A G-chord. Like..." The newcomer grabbed Link's hand with his own slick, webbed fingers and forced it into the correct position. Midna, perched cross-legged in the dunes a few feet away, watched with a small smirk of amusement. Meeting eccentric people had become a bit of a prerequisite to their constant adventuring. They had both learned to take it in stride.

Link ran his thumb across the strings of the guitar and managed to come up with a chord that wasn't completely jarring to the ears. The instrument had a strangely metallic and distorted tone, but it seemed to please the Zora.

"Cool. Now keep jamming in like... make it three-four time. I gotta nail this beat."

"I don't really know what that means," Link began, but the Zora had already dropped to his knees in the shallow surf and was beating the flats of his palms against his thighs in a hypnotically complex rhythm.

"Doesn't matter. It's _music_. Your _soul_ knows what it means."

Link kept strumming the guitar, instinctively settling into the rhythm set by the Zora. Giggling, Midna caught his eye and waved her hands in a "go on" motion, and with a sigh Link sat down in the shallow water beside the Zora. A wave of spray drenched him almost instantly. Midna wrapped her arms around her torso and tittered wickedly. Link pretended to ignore her.

"Go on, ask him where we are," he heard her whisper, and wondered why she didn't just question the Zora herself. But there had been a time not so long ago, hadn't there, when the sunlit Light World had trapped her in his shadow. When she had been forced to rely on him completely to interact with other people. It seemed they had both subconsciously slipped into their old roles again, and Link wasn't sure why that bothered him as much as it did.

"You gotta keep playing, dude," the Zora reminded him, and realizing that his hand had gone still Link quickly fell back into the repetitive motion of strumming the strings of the guitar.

He might as well just come out and ask. Claiming to have been transported thousands of miles by a magical sandstorm seemed likely to get them thrown into an asylum, but on the other hand he could always claim that the two of them were just lost travelers. "Um..." he began. "Can I ask-"

"Kalau," the Zora stated calmly, without looking up from his drumming.

"What?"

"My name's Kalau."

"Oh," said Link, feeling a bit guilty that he hadn't thought to ask the Zora's name before anything else. "I'm Link, and this is Midna."

"Stoked." Kalau's hands finally stopped their rhythm as he looked over at Link, grinning widely to reveal row after row of sharp, triangular teeth. He offered a webbed hand and Link set the guitar aside and shook it. "Fins damp? ...Just smile and nod," he added, at Link's puzzled expression. "Not from around here, huh?"

Link shook his head and stood, and the Zora picked up his guitar and did the same. "We're just passing through. There's a... friend we're supposed to meet west of here."

"Tight with a lotta Gyorgs?" Kalau asked with a laugh. "Hey, no sweat; so was my mother." Link continued to look at him blankly. "Oh come on, it was a joke. 'Cause y'know, I look kinda like a... nevermind. Anyway." The Zora made a sweeping gesture to indicate the expanse of water sparkling with reds and oranges as the sun set beyond it. "Nothing west of here but ocean, and trust me, those swells go on forever. Unless your mate's a fish, you're not gonna find him out there."

An irate _"What?"_ came from Midna's direction, and a moment later she was stalking up to join them. She drew Link aside and gave him one of her best scowls. Kalau looked on with mild curiosity. "You said Lanayru told you to go west."

Link considered, trying to remember the Spirit's exact words, and hesitantly responded, "It might have just meant for us to travel west until we got beyond the desert..."

"Or until we walked into its imbecilic sandstorm trap," she muttered angrily. "Goddesses how I hate that snake-thing."

The hero had to admit, now that Midna brought it up he couldn't help but notice how odd a coincidence it seemed that they had been swept up by the freakish sandstorm while following directions from Lanayru, almost as if they had been purposefully led into it. A scene from the shifting sands drifted into the forefront of his mind: the figure of a man with a large pack across his back, speaking in Lanayru's voice...

_Let the desert do what it will._

"If you're right," he said aloud, "then this wasn't an accident. We're supposed to be here. And as far as what we're meant to do now that we're here... I guess it's up to us to figure it out ourselves."

"Yeah yeah, the gilded moon and stars and the man with ten faces, that's wonderfully helpful, I'm sure we'll figure that out in no time." Her sarcasm could have cut through iron.

"A painted sun and moon and a man with one hundred faces."

She rolled her eyes and shot him a wry grin. "Guess I shouldn't complain. The longer this takes us the longer I get to stay here, right?"

Link's breath caught in his throat for a moment. _How can she say that? The longer we take the more people will die of the Fever! And the closer I'll be to losing Ilia... _He was a bit relieved when his inner voice didn't ask him whether Midna would be worth it. Because both voices were him, and both parts of him knew that nothing would be worth that.

_That doesn't mean I can't w_ant_ it._

_I _don't_ want it!_

_Liar._

Midna snapped her fingers in front of his face, and he blinked, startled. "What?"

"You, uh, kind of zoned out there," she answered with a shrug. "I was just saying that we don't even know where we are."

"'Scuse me," the Gyorg-like Zora interrupted, "but I can probably help you guys with that. This beach is part of the Great Bay, and my pad's in Zora's Cove, over that way." He pointed along the shore, to where the faint outlines of distant cliffs were visible rising above the dunes. "As for, like, the whole shebang? We call it Termina."

Link and Midna exchanged uncomprehending looks.

Kalau slung his guitar strap across his back and muttered, "Dude, you really _aren't_ from around here, are you? Look, it's getting dark, and you guys probably need a place to crash, right? Tell you what; come back to Zora Hall with me and tomorrow we'll mess with where your friend is. You guys sound like you really need to be filled in on some stuff, anyway." The Zora set off across the beach, and a moment later Midna followed.

"Sounds good to me," she explained, glancing back at Link. "One thing I _didn't _miss about all this was sleeping on the ground." Slightly more wary, the hero fell into step beside her.

Kalau's grin widened, his teeth glinting in the reddening light. "Hey, chill. I don't bite. ...One other thing," he added, almost as an afterthought. "You do know how to swim, right?"

**-o{}o-**

Sopping wet, snarled with kelp, and wringing seawater out of their clothes, Link and Midna trailed Kalau, staring inquisitively around.

Zora Hall was an enormous natural cave filled with the dancing blue flicker of light on water, where every slight sound echoed and was magnified until the very air buzzed and hummed like the strings of Kalau's guitar. It was nothing like the stately open-sky reservoir of the Zora's Domain they knew back in Hyrule; this place was alive with noise and movement and _music_. Standing at the entrance to the gargantuan main cavern, Link and Midna found themselves at the rear of a mass of Zora, every one of them the same startling turquoise blue as their guide, and every one jumping up and down and dancing and waving their arms in the air in time with the beat of the throbbing music that filled the Hall. Kalau flashed his teeth at them with a short "Make yourselves at home," before hailing someone in the crowd and darting off to be lost among the press of bodies. "Yo Moramoa, I clinched your weak beat...!"

"Do you think it's some sort of ceremony?" Link asked Midna, raising his voice to be heard above the seething music.

The Twilight Princess stood on tiptoe to peer over the crowd at the stage. "They're playing those guitars," she told him. "I think this is a concert hall. We have a few of these back in the Twilight Realm. People go there to listen to music-" She was cut short as Kalau darted back out of the crowd and grabbed her by the arm.

"Dudes, you can't just hang there. You gotta _move_ with it!"

Midna laughed melodically and allowed the Zora to drag her into the fray. Slightly exasperated, Link pushed his way through after her. The music pulsated around him, and the dancing Zora swayed in waves, their shapes made strangely surreal by the flickering blue water-lights.

"Dance with me, blue-eyes." A rapturous grin on her face, Midna wrapped her arms around his neck and undulated to the rhythm, her body writhing against his.

"Midna, stop, this music is doing something to you-"

"It's called fun, hero," she said in a sing-song voice. "It'd do something to you too, if you'd let it."

"I don't know how to dance," he protested.

She giggled and imitated Kalau's accent. "Doesn't matter. It's music. Your _soul_ knows how." The crackling orange scent of her magic skittered across his skin. "Dance with me," she repeated, and Link found himself wrapping his arms around her waist and letting the music control him.

They danced.

The blue light shimmered and the music pulsed in time with their heartbeats and they jumped and swayed and spun until the world was a blur, and the night melted into indistinct dreams of movement and music.

They danced.

They danced away months of separation, unsaid words, unshed tears. They danced away dying goats and tarnished thrones. They danced across the shards of a broken mirror, and, for a while, they pretended it could be whole again.

They danced.

Reality came crashing back as Kalau's voice broke through their bewitchment. "Hey dudes, the party's over."

Link and Midna froze, and discovered themselves panting from exertion and standing with their bodies ridiculously entwined. The music had stopped and the great white, shell-like fluted stage was empty. The milling throng was gone, and the three of them were alone in the cavernous empty concert hall.

Link hurriedly untangled his limbs from Midna's, a slight blush rising in his face. "When did...?"

"Music stopped like, twenty minutes ago," Kalau answered with amusement. "It's like, one a.m. A dude's gotta sleep _sometime_, right? You guys looked like you were having a good time though."

"No thanks to Link," Midna quipped, offhandedly picking a few strands of seaweed out of her fiery hair. "His idea of fun is wasting his whole wallet on archery games." Link sighed. He'd danced with her, hadn't he? The woman was impossible to please.

"One in the morning?" he asked Kalau. "It was barely sunset when we got here."

"And then you moshed for a couple hours," said the Zora. "The music does that. You pour your soul into it, you know, and everything else just sorta melts. Music's got power, when you play it right. Now are you guys going to bed, or what?"

Link suddenly realized how exhausted he was; it had been nearly two days since last he'd slept. He nodded in confirmation. "If you have any spare rooms."

"Spare rooms? Dude, what are you, squatters? You're my mates! I'll get you the sweetest pad in Termina if I have to kick some frube out myself."

"Him I like," Midna whispered.

"That won't be necessary," Link answered the Zora. "...But thank you."

"Hey, thanks for jammin' with me." Kalau led them through a door along one wall of the concert hall, a natural archway in the rock that led to a series of winding tunnels and smaller caverns, all lit by the dancing blue play of light on water. A shallow stream of water flowed constantly across the ground, cool against their feet, and there were wooden doors along the walls at random intervals, painted bright, cheerful colors and decorated with stylized depictions of sea life. "We sure know how to entertain though, right? Concert was sweet and all, but you ain't heard anything till you hear me and Moramoa play. Sure we're not big time yet, but we've got heart, you know? Anyway." Kalau stopped at a doorframe decorated with large shells. "This one's got two beds. Or are you guys, like, together?"

"Oh, no, we're not-" Link said, a little too quickly, and Midna burst out laughing.

Kalau held his hands up defensively. "Hey, none of my business. 'Night, dudes."

"Good night, Kalau," said Midna, batting her eyelashes at him playfully. "Come on, Link, I'm so exhausted I could sleep for a week."

The interior of the room they had been given was small and dim, and split into two stories by a narrow loft. The stone floor was coated with sand and small pools of water in which tiny fish swam about. Using that trick of hers that wasn't quite flying, Midna darted gleefully up to the loft and collapsed heavily onto the bed. "Can you believe this place?" she asked, her voice slightly muffled by the bedclothes. "I've never heard music like that. I've never seen _dancing_ like that! She stuck her head over the edge of the loft and grinned down at Link, who had taken a seat on the other bed below and was taking his boots off. "And what did Kalau call it; the ocean? It's incredible!" Her heard her flop back against the bed. "It's just like discovering Hyrule all over again!"

"You hated Hyrule the first time you saw it," Link pointed out.

"Oh you be quiet. I hated Termina too, before I found out that it was more than just dunes and saltwater."

"I guess I've gotten used to the smell of the salt," Link said tiredly. Either that or he'd finally lost all sense of smell. He pulled off his baldric and shield and set them on the ground beside the bed, within easy reach. Lying back and closing his eyes to shut out the dim light, he willed his exhausted body to rest.

"I _must_ be dreaming. I just never thought," her voice sounded quietly from above, "That I'd ever go on another adventure."

The hero didn't respond.

The little fish swam silently in their pools of water.

He wondered what Ilia was doing that night. If she had woken up, if Renado's medicines were working, if she was in any pain... His hand strayed to the place on his chest where his horse-whistle usually rested, and closed on nothing but cloth. Of course, Midna had spirited it away along with everything else. He suddenly wished he were still wearing it, if only to have some small connection to her, some way to tell himself that she was still alive. That some part of the world was still fair.

He should have married her months ago. But he had just kept talking about it, and putting it off, and making excuses... And now he might never get the chance.

"You're tossing and turning a lot, hero," said Midna's voice from right beside his left ear, and his eyes flew open to find her yawning sleepily as she snuggled up next to him. He hadn't even heard her move. The warmth of her body was wonderfully familiar: the warmth of a hundred nights curled up somewhere out in Hyrule Field, with a little imp dozing at his side and commandeering all the blankets. "Don't give me that look," she murmured, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. "It's just weird not sleeping next to you. Gimme that blanket."

He considered protesting, but no, this was Midna. She was allowed.

Her breathing gradually deepened, and Link closed his eyes again. Her presence beside him seemed to settle his mind; it was so easy to imagine that they were back in the familiar world of Hyrule, sleeping on the ground and not worrying about what would come next. It was easy to drift off to sleep when you knew the world would still be there when you woke up.

Besides, it had been weird not sleeping next to her as well.

**-o{}o-**

Link dreamt of the wolf.

It was a reoccurring dream he'd had every night since he first became the wolf so long ago, and each night it grew more and more vivid. In his dream he ran through the fields of Hyrule, sleek and powerful, the wind slicing cold and wonderful though his long, gray-green fur, his senses sharp, the world a myriad of color swirling before him like some great Mandala. The slight weight of Midna on his back and her exhilarated laughter in his animal-sharp ears told him that she too could feel the wind; she too could understand the glorious sensation of giving in to one's feral instincts and letting the wolf take control. The wolf was no Hero, held to some archaic code of honor, forever straining to meet the expectations of all of Hyrule. The wolf was free.

He used to love those dreams, back when he was still traveling across Hyrule trying to locate all the mirror shards or fused shadows or whatever it was Midna was constantly prodding him to collect. Sometimes he'd wondered if the little imp really knew what she was doing, or if she was making it up as they went along. There had been so many obscure items of vague magical power that she had been convinced they absolutely _needed_, most of which Link was pretty sure were only children's fairy tales. But Midna was like that. When faced with a problem, she grasped at the first solution that presented itself, no matter how implausible. Then again, perhaps that was why she had agreed to come with him on this mad quest to find the man with one hundred faces. Anyone else would have just laughed in his face.

When Midna left Hyrule, the dreams had changed, merging with nightmares of broken mirrors, of kneeling on the sandy ground and tearing his gauntlets away and trying desperately to gather up the shards of glass in his hands, to piece them together again. Dreams of broken things, sharp things that left long bloody gashes across his palms, and as his triforce worked to heal them he only clenched his fists tighter, wanting the pain, needing it because it was real, because it was _her_. Slivers of silver that even as he touched them crumbled to powder in his hands.

Dreams of a voice stating, slightly strained, inside his head, _What does it matter? Things are back to normal now, the way they were before the twilight. It's like she never existed._

_It will _never_ be like she never existed._ His answering voice was calm, truthful.

_It can be,_ he argued. _I've saved everyone. I can go home a hero now, and corral the goats with Fado, and tell Colin and Beth and Talo and Malo stories all about my adventures, and someday,_ he continued, _I'll become the mayor of Ordon, just like everyone in the village always says. I can move on. I can be with Ilia. _He was pleading with himself now, wanting desperately for it to be true. _I can be happy._

_Liar. I can never be happy without M-_

_-the other one, _he cut in quickly. He wanted to forget about her, everything, even her name. From now on, there was only Ilia.

And that was how the dream went, until he returned to Ordon Village, and Ilia had thrown herself into his arms and shouted happily that she was so glad he was safe. And then and there, something within him had realized that Ilia was his best friend in the world, and that she could indeed make him happy, and so, on the spur of the moment, with everyone in the village gathered around with beaming faces to congratulate him on his victory over Ganondorf... Right there in front of everyone, he had bent down and whispered in her beautiful, rounded, shell-like ear, words meant for her and her alone.

_"Ilia of Ordon, will you marry me?"_

She had looked up into his face, her expression startled and her eyes wide. "What, now?" she said aloud, and the villagers looked confused at her exclamation, not having heard the question that preceded it.

"I don't know," he answered. "Maybe not now. But someday."

She smiled beautifully. "Then the answer is yes, Link. Yes I will."

**-o{}o-**

Zelda didn't often sleep, not anymore. Insomnia, or perhaps fear, kept her standing at her bedroom window most nights, or else wandering the castle until the early hours of the morning, wraithlike as her white nightdress caught the moonlight. This night found her leaning weakly on the ironwork rail of her balcony, gazing bleakly down at the faint lights of Castle Town below. The cool night air felt good against her pallid skin.

She knew not how much longer she would live, only that it would be long enough to give Link ample opportunity to seek out a cure; Lanayru would never had brought it up otherwise. She supposed being one of the Goddesses' chosen avatars awarded her some small measure of protection; her fits thus far had been nothing more than shaky hands and trembling legs that made it difficult to keep her balance. Her malady was easily hidden. She would continue to hide it, as long as it gave her kingdom some small measure of hope. She refused to be powerless this time.

Hyrule had no resources to deal with this sort of disaster. Its doctors and healers were a poorly organized, mostly uneducated lot; men who had learned the trade from their fathers and never themselves read a word about medicine. There were no hospitals, no sickhouses, no schools to train new surgeons. The disease had spread because they were poorly prepared, and now it seemed to be too late to reconcile.

And so she stared in silence down at the lights below and wondered how many more would go out before Link's return.

"_Mi'lady!"_

A frantic knocking filled Zelda's chambers as someone pounded hysterically against the door. _"Mi'lady! _Wake up, it's terrible!"

Zelda took a moment to be sure that her legs were steady, and stepped quietly across the room. She opened the door just a crack and peered out at the flushed and frightened face of a portly chambermaid in a disheveled lacy nightgown. Eulie, Zelda recalled her name to be.

"Mi'lady, tis horrible!" the maid gasped, as Zelda let her inside. The poor flustered woman collapsed into a large chair by the princess's bedside and dabbed at her face with the hem of her sleeve. Zelda sat down on the bed beside her. "Oh Miss, everyone's all in a tizzy! No one was sure whether'r not to wake you, but I just thought to me'self, 'now, she'll want to know soon as possible, won't she?' So here I am, but oh, it gave me such a fright, and at such an hour of the night, as well!"

"What's happened?" Zelda asked her calmly, the triforce of Wisdom glowing softly for a moment to lend her serenity.

"A bright light, Miss, in the throne room! One've the night guards saw it flash for a moment, so he went inside to see what it could be, and oh, it was terrible, Mi'lady! He went running as fast as he could to tell the whole castle, and tis a miracle he was alive to do so, really it is!"

"What did he see, Eulie?"

The maid stared back at her with a face dead-pale in the moonlight.

"Tis Zant, Miss. He's sitting on your throne!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

There was a slim rapier strapped to the belt at Zelda's waist. It had been months since she had last worn a sword. The weapon was mostly ornamental; although as a child she had received _some_ swordplay instruction along with her other lessons and could at least grasp the hilt correctly, the princess knew very little about how to use her blade. Tonight, it was for show. She wore it because it made her seem strong and in control in the eyes of her soldiers, and she was desperate not be seen as weak. Not again.

The hallways of Hyrule castle were dark, lit by silvery moonlight slanting in through the windows. Zelda stalked along, passing from light to shadow, shadow to light, and the chill night air permeated the thin white silk of her nightgown and felt strangely alive against her fever-hot skin. There had been no time to change into something more suitable, despite poor Eulie's protests. Silken dresses and finery took far too long to lace up, and she was in a hurry.

On either side, two bodyguards summoned at random from what small measure of her army the Fever had not yet incapacitated trudged along, their wide strides more than keeping up with the princess, even as she was walking so quickly that she had to fight the urge to simply break into a run and have done with it. No, she must not appear worried. Frightened faces peered out at her from within the dark recesses of doorways; by now everyone in the palace knew what was happening. For them, she would be brave.

But oh goddesses what awaited her in the throne room?

The light of a dozen brightly burning torches licked the stones of the huge balcony that spanned the very peak of Hyrule Castle, a stunning narthex to the great double doors of the throne room. A gust of cool summer wind caught at the hem of Zelda's nightgown and made it swirl around her bare feet as she ascended the final staircase and ventured out into the open. From here the lights of Castle Town looked like a field of fallen stars. _I am a goddess, standing just above the heavens and watching helplessly as below my feet my creation burns out, star by star._

Moonlight and torchlight made the entire balcony glow with a strange, eerie radiance, and by its luminosity the princess could see a crowd of servants and castle guards gathered around the entrance of the throne room, the moon glinting off of armor, spears, and bared swords. They held their torches high to stave off the darkness -_and we die in spectacular novae of fire- _and firelight poured into the dark abyss where the towering doors of the throne room had been thrust ajar.

Oh goddesses what was hiding in the darkness...

"My princess," one of the soldiers stated quickly upon seeing her and the two guards step into the light, and he and some of the others made quick bows in her direction.

"Time enough for that later," she responded sharply, her eyes scanning the crowd. There were _children _there, the sons or servants and soldiers, she imagined, come to see if there would be a fight. Something about their wide, excited eyes glittering in the firelight made her think of a certain Ordonian boy, crouching terrified but thrilled before her in the body of a sacred wolf, his eyes still all too human as they filled with realization. _Yes this is the princess of Hyrule, yes you are really meeting her, and yes, child, someday you will kill a god..._

This was no place for children. But sometimes, children grew up to be soldiers.

Zelda strode forward, allowing the crowd to gather around her in a semicircle as all at once they began speaking up, each man with a different version of events, some claiming to have seen Zant, some Ganondorf, and some anything and everything else. Zelda's triforce glowed as she peppered them with questions, trying to make sense of the jumbled litany. Zant was lounging on the throne; no, he had been running across the hall, glowing and on fire to boot; he had put a curse on the door; no, a curse on the entire palace; no, he _and _Ganondorf were there and they were having tea...

Finally, desperately, Zelda's triforce gave a definitive pulse of light and went dark, and the princess shouted, "Enough!" The men surrounding her went quiet.

She took a deep breath. She hadn't meant to shout. But she was tired and sick and if Zant was alive and attempting to usurp her again then she really, _really _didn't have time for this.

In a more moderate tone, she continued. "None of you know, do you? No one here has actually entered the throne room to see if the rumors are true. The entire palace is in a panic..." Surely it was the whole of Castle Town by now. "...and no one actually knows _why._"

They had the decency, at least, to look ashamed.

Zelda put a hand to her temple with a short sigh and muttered, "Where is the guard who was patrolling the throne room? The man who claims to have seen Zant?"

There was a shuffling at the back of the group, and a helmeted soldier pushed his way forward through the press of bodies and stood unabashedly before Zelda, looking oddly scrawny in comparison to the other, taller, more muscular figures standing around him, even with his armor. Barely more than another child, then.

Zelda began to voice her question: "Then you're the man who... oh."

For as she spoke the soldier had raised his hands to his helmet and lifted it off, to hold at his, or rather _her_, side. She turned her head and spat, dark eyes fixed on the princess. "Yeah, but I ain't no man."

"Ashei?" the princess hazarded, remembering handing some sort of medal for bravery to a knight of the same name not long after the fall of Ganondorf. She'd handed out a lot of medals that day.

The knight gazed at Zelda with a slight frown that seemed to be permanently affixed to her face. "It's what they call me."

The princess recovered quickly. "I've been informed by a chambermaid called Eulie that a guard ran screaming through the halls of Hyrule Castle, claiming he'd seen Zant seated on the throne. I assume she heard this story secondhand; it seems everyone else has. I would like to know..."

"Yeah, I'll bet she did," Ashei interrupted. "Spreading like the fever, that story. I'll tell you what happened, yeah?" She put a hand on her hip, speaking in a monotone as nonchalant as if they were discussing the weather. "I took this job because I needed the rupees, and I took the night shift because there are less people awake to tell you how to do your job. And I took the balcony because I like the view. And earlier tonight that view got a little stranger. There was this bright flash of light in the throne room, and when I looked inside, Zant was sprawled out across the throne, stark naked."

There was absolute silence on the balcony; even the wind seemed to have died away. Ashei's face broke into a slow smirk as she realized she had an audience.

"And I do mean _naked._ Naked as an animal, naked like the-"

"_Ashei!_" one of the soldiers snapped disapprovingly, and the female knight's deadpan face returned.

"Well. When I went off-duty I told the guard on the next shift, and he ran screaming through the hallways. Satisfied, your highness?"

Zelda's mouth seemed to be functioning normally, it was just that somewhere between her brain and her vocal chords something got garbled and her words came out as a stammered, "Uhm?" She was most certainly not satisfied! Why had Ashei not alerted the entire palace herself, and why had she waited until going off-duty to alert anyone at all? The princess could understand not wanting to fight an all-powerful creature of the Twilight, but when the man was standing right before her she could have at least-

"I wouldn't worry too much about that," Ashei added, as if she knew what Zelda was thinking. "Seems there's one vitally important detail our soldier friend forgot to mention, yeah? Zant's in there, all right. But he's dead."

What should have been a hush, or perhaps a collective sigh of relief, was instead a sudden eruption of frantic conversation, as the group of soldiers and servants began to argue, with Zelda, with Ashei, and with each other, until the din grew so loud that Zelda had to shout for silence again.

"Ashei, is this true?"

The woman met her eyes. "I've got no reason to lie."

"And how did he die?"

"I wouldn't know; he was dead when I got there."

"Very well." Zelda said firmly. "I want to see for myself. Take me to the body."

Members of the crowd glanced nervously at the impenetrable darkness beyond the doors of the throne room, but they stepped aside all the same as Ashei led the way inside. Zelda motioned for her bodyguards to follow and strode regally into the dark, cavernous chamber, trailed by a retinue of frightened onlookers holding torches aloft to penetrate the gloom. Despite Ashei's assurances, the princess found herself just as frightned and excited as those children she had seen in the crowd, and the triforce was glowing against her right hand, soothing her terror. Without it, she was certain her legs would give way beneath her. But no, for Hyrule she had to seem strong...

There was indeed the dark shape of a man slung lifelessly across the arms of her throne.

He was a Twili, his skin bare and swirled with markings of black across a milky blue so pallid that it glowed in the darkness, and a network of blue-green rune symbols pulsed gently with light as they wound around his arms and legs. A shaft of light from one of the windows high above glanced across his angulate, alien face, and as she studied it Zelda heard a hiss of breath escape her lips as relief washed over her: he was not Zant.

Ashei and the palace guards could perhaps be excused for their mistake. But Zelda had, for a brief time, shared in Midna's memories, and in that time the image of Zant's cruel face had been branded into her mind, unforgettable. The man before her was in his every feature the striking image of Zant, until she looked closer and noted the subtle differences: the creases around his eyes, the slightest differentiation in the black markings that spiraled across his skin, and the streaks of gray that flecked his red-orange hair. Zant had been young, but if Twili aged in even remotely the same way that Hylians did, then this man was at least forty.

"It isn't him," she announced aloud.

Murmured conversations once again broke out amongst the assembly behind her. She shared in their confusion. A Twili, here, after Midna had long since shattered the Mirror of Twilight? It seemed impossible.

For some reason, perhaps guided by the triforce of wisdom, her eyes fell to the Twili's hands, held close to his chest and clasped tightly around a fist-sized stone carved with spiraling marks - a stone like those found only in the Spirit Spring of Lanayru. So this was the Spirit's doing...

She swept her gaze across those hands. The man's hands and arms were crisscrossed with bloody, spiraling lacerations to match the carvings on the stone, and his entire body was discolored with bruising as if he had been beaten to death. Zelda felt a small degree of pity for this creature, whoever he was. No one, perhaps not even Zant, deserved a death like that.

It was only then that she saw his chest, very subtly, rise and fall with breath.

Zelda gave a small gasp and stepped backward, her eyes sweeping frantically across the Twili's body.

"Guards!" she shouted, her voice echoing in the huge throne room, uncharacteristically high-pitched. She took a deep breath to calm herself and spoke again. "Guards. Fetch me a healer, as quickly as possible. I think this man is still alive."

They rushed to comply.

**-o{}o-**

From the misty, sacred place where the Light Spirits gathered, Ordona, Faron, Eldin, and Lanayru watched with unseen solemnity.

"_Your doing, Lanayru?" _Eldin asked.

"_I had little choice in the matter. With the life of the Twilight Princess bound to my summoning stone, it required a protector, and I could not allow that protector to die in the depths of the Palace of Twilight. Healer Rhent has been given his charge: to guard the stone, and now his life is bound to it as well."_

Faron shook its monkey-like head. _"These are the measures you have taken to preserve Hyrule in the absence of Farore's chosen?"_

"_It was all I could do," _the Wisdom Spirit answered. _"The Twili have knowledge of magic and medicine that the Hylians have yet to so much as dream of. If nothing else, he will keep the princess alive until the hero's return." _Its eyes pierced the dimensions, and watched Zelda as she directed a few of the servants to transfer Rhent to a litter so he could be carried downstairs. Even as the Spirit watched, it could feel her lifespan ever so slightly increase. _"After all... I have my own chosen to look after."_

Faron gave Lanayru an emotionless look that still somehow managed to convey a kind of resigned sadness. _"So did I, Lanayru. So did I."_

**-o{}o-**

The stone towers of Ikana stood silent and black against the nightdark sky; eerie sentinels whose towering shapes hid the stars and cast all the dead kingdom into deep shadow. In the pitch-black ruins, a Redead shuffled slowly through the ancient wreckage, oblivious to the chill that permeated the stagnant air.

It had once been a soldier under King Igos du Ikana, but that was thousands of years ago and it had all but forgotten. Its chainmail and armor had long since rusted away to expose the slick gray-brown rot that had once been its skin, and the eyeless black hollows in its skull stared out unseeingly at the world through a haze that came of being not quite dead, and yet not quite alive.

It saw firelight.

Some part of it could still recall being a living being; long cold nights patrolling the parapets of Ikana Castle, pausing by the torches set into brackets along the walls in order to warm its hands as it stared out into the night. The fire was good, the fire was a soldier's friend. Slow and stumbling, it skulked toward the distant light.

There was a bonfire burning near the rim of the canyon, far above the churning river. Its flickering orange glow threw itself against the dead and twisted trees that clung forlornly to the barren rocks and cast misshapen shadows. Their cast-off branches crackled softly in the heart of the fire, burning white and casting glowing sparks into the air. The Redead shambled forward, forgetting that it was dead and vaguely puzzled by the fact that it could feel no warmth.

It was then that it noticed the shapes.

They were gathered around the fire, huddled beneath long robes, their backs turned black by the night. One by one they turned to stare at the intruder, and beneath their cowls there was nothing but shadow, punctuated by two glowing blue-green sparks where their eyes should have been. That tiny part of the Redead that remembered being a soldier felt a sudden apprehension as those glowing eyes watched it. It could recall, in some dull impression of times long past, a pair of eyes such as these staring into its own as their owner ran a blade through its still-beating heart...

One spoke. _"Do-ees de hinah?"_

_"Hi-ah _Redead_. Dv 'gv-ni 'la."_

From under the second speaker's robe there came a sudden flash of metal catching the firelight, and a moment later there was a dull _thunk_ as the blade of a short scimitar buried itself in the Redead's decaying chest. With a low moan of distress, the creature turned quickly and shambled away, fading into the night.

The robed figure sat back and stared once again into the dancing flames, muttering to itself in its own strange language. _"And now it walks away with my best blade. I hate those creatures."_

_"You didn't have to stab it, Segwu," _the first speaker responded, amused. _"It's not as if they do the likes of us any harm."_

_"The soldiers of Ikana will always be enemies of the Garo, in life or death," _another murmured.

Segwu ignored him and gazed into the heart of the fire with piercing eyes. _"Jalhalla seems restless tonight."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"See for yourself," _Segwu responded flatly, and his robe shifted slightly as beneath it he gestured toward the dark shapes of the towers above, silhouetted against the sky.

Slowly, the other Garo turned their heads to stare at the distant peak of the tallest tower. From this distance, the lone figure of Jalhalla seemed a mere speck in the starlight, but the Garo had sharp eyes, and as they watched their king perched atop his tower they could sense the tension in his stance.

_"He looks to the west," _one said.

Moving in unison, almost snakelike in their fluidity, they followed his gaze and saw nothing but the shadows cast by the steep walls of Ikana canyon. When they again looked to the tower, Jalhalla was gone.

_"Why do we follow him?" _one complained softly, as if wary of being overheard. _"He is not one of the Garo."_

Segwu laughed. _"The Garo died a thousand years ago. We are but wandering souls, bound to follow whoever dares lead us. And he..." _the swordless Garo gestured again to the tower where Jalhalla had been standing mere moments before, _"...is very much one of us."_

There was a murmur of agreement from the others gathered around the fire.

Fire was, to the Garo, sacred, for in flames danced their ancient fate. The Garo had vowed, one thousand years prior, to destroy Ikana, though they could no longer remember why. They fought. For hundreds of years they fought, in a neverending battle against the armies of Ikana, neither side winning, neither side losing. They fought for generations, and when it seemed there would be no end to the war, the Fires had come. No Garo knew what the Fires truly were; lightning, volcano, or wrath of the gods... None of them could remember so far back. And when the Fires were gone, Ikana was a blighted land and both armies were nothing more than corpses and ghosts.

The forlorn spirits of the Garo wandered aimlessly through Ikana, unable to pass on to the next world without having won their war. They had possessed a leader once, a Garo like themselves, but his fate was unknown to them. Some said he had merely faded away one day, never to return, while others claimed The Boy Who Killed The Moon had murdered him. It didn't matter, either way. When Jalhalla had come to them, they welcomed him. Even as wandering souls, they needed a ruler.

The Garo went silent as footfalls approached through the darkness. Jalhalla stepped into the circle of firelight, orange light and blue-black shadow flickering across the grooves in his smiling mask. Segwu and the others said nothing. In the past few years Jalhalla had become more and more of a recluse, hardly ever descending from his tower of stone except to give orders that seemed to makes less sense as time went on. The whispers around the nightly bonfires were that he was drifting into madness, going down the same path as the old Garo master. But they were bound to follow him for as long as he led, and so as he spoke, his strange voice seeming almost alien as it formed the words of their language, they listened.

"_Something has come to Termina," _Jalhalla whispered. A fist emerged from the folds of his black cloak, and as he uncurled his fingers a breeze stirred the still, oily air, as if the King of Poes had reached out and caught the wind, and was only now letting it go. The fire burned for a moment with a blue edge as the air swirled around it. _"Magic."_

"_Termina is filled with magic," _one of the Garo replied, but even as he spoke they all knew that this was something new, something different. Something far more powerful.

"_Two beings, new to Termina," _came Jalhalla's rasping voice. _"Each carrying within them powerful magic from a distant world. Segwu."_

Segwu got to his feet and stood before Jalhalla. _"I am here."_

"_Your people are assassins and spies, are they not? Go find these two. Watch them, and see what magics they possess. If you can," _Jalhalla's hand strayed almost unconsciously to his mask, and the Garo knew what he would next request. _"Kill them and bring me their soul masks. I have gone far too long without a face."_

"_I will go myself, Faceless One," _Segwu answered. _"At dawn tomorrow I will seek out these strangers, and by nightfall you will have their faces."_

Jalhalla nodded vaguely and walked off into the darkness, the Garo already forgotten.

"_He is losing his mind," _one murmured.

"_It is his face," _Segwu tried to explain. _"Our ancestors did not come from Termina; we could not understand. Here, the people believe that a person's face is their heart, mind, and soul. To show one's face is to proudly display one's soul to the world, and to hide it behind a mask is to change the very core of their being. Even when they die, their souls become sacred masks. Can you imagine, then, being a creature of Termina and yet not having a face?"_

The others merely stared.

One shook its head. _"No wonder he is mad."_

**-o{}o-**

Early in the morning, or perhaps sometime closer to noon that nevertheless _felt_ like early morning because he'd stayed up all night dancing, Link was awakened by a pillow to the head and a wry suasion of: "Wake up, blue-eyes, they're feeding us breakfast."

Link opened his eyes slowly and caught a fleeting glimpse of Midna's fiery orange ponytail as she darted out of the room. The dim, bluish light of the caverns hadn't changed; flickering patterns still danced eerily across the walls and ceiling, reflected off the surface of the ever-present water in exactly the same manner as they had in the dead of night, leading Link to believe that the lighting in Zora Hall was somewhat magical in nature. He lay in bed for a moment, staring up at the low ceiling made by the loft above him and watching the shapes and patterns the light made as it washed across the stone. Strains of music drifted in from the distant corridors of the Hall.

_Someday, I'll have to bring Ilia here. She'll think it's beautiful._

It was tempting to imagine that he could stay here for a while and forget about Hyrule and his quest and the dying goats and all the people back home who were counting on him, all the reasons he was never allowed to fail. Here, they knew nothing about him but his name. He didn't have to be a hero.

Absently he put a hand to his chest, and sighed when it met only cloth where his horse whistle should have been. _Ilia. Think of Ilia. I can't stay here, I can't afford to waste time, she'll die if I do._

Kalau had been adamant about music having power, and Link was starting to believe him. The music _was_ doing something to him, he was sure. In the same way that the pulsating music of the night before had controlled his body, the soft chime of Zora Hall's daylight music worked its way discreetly into his thoughts and made him drowsy, compliant. He wanted nothing more than to stay here for all eternity, dancing by night and drifting dazedly through the cool, light-dappled halls by day. But he couldn't. That way of life might be ideal for the Zora, but it couldn't be for him, not now, not when so many people were counting on him. Not when Ilia's life hung in the balance.

_What will a few days matter? _The voice inside his head asked slyly. _Midna will be here..._

_This isn't a question of trading Ilia's life for Midna's. Both of our worlds are in danger. I can't forget that._

The part of him that loved Midna was silent. It was his world as well.

There was a smell drifting along with the music, and Link, who had somehow learned to notice such things even when he wasn't the wolf, recognized it as the smell of food: Midna's promised breakfast. The hero's stomach gave a loud grumble, and with a sigh Link dragged himself out of bed and started rummaging around for his boots.

**-o{}o-**

What the Zora had prepared on the series of long, sprawling tables that spanned the length of the concert hall could be described as nothing short of a banquet. There were foods there that Link and Midna could never have even imagined: huge tropical fish cut into pieces with their glittering skins still attached, eels and shrimp floating in oddly sweet sauces, unidentifiable white meats wrapped in bundles of rubbery black seaweed that tasted only of salt… There was even a huge fish-shaped creature (it was called a Gyorg, Link would later be told) on a platter so large it needed a table to itself, with row upon row of knifelike teeth and a huge triangular fin jutting from its back that made it look almost exactly like Kalau.

Of course, it wasn't all appetizing, and none of it was cooked. Link gathered from observing the tables for a while that the Zora would simply catch things at random and add them to the bowls and platters throughout the day, and others, as they passed by, would scavenge whatever looked appealing. As he attempted to fill his own plate he was bombarded by recommendations from grinning Zora, who seemed to enjoy nothing more than piling various less-than-edible looking substances on his plate and assuring him that once he got past the gag reflex it would be the best thing he'd ever tasted. Even Kalau got in on the fun, offering him a dish of what looked like hacked up bits of large purple tentacles, some of them still attempting to slither around at the bottom of the bowl, their suction-cups pulsing slowly.

"Er... what is it?" Link asked, trying to sound polite and not entirely sure he cared to know the answer.

"It's octorok, dude," the Zora answered with a grin as he popped one of the pieces into his own mouth and proceeded to shred it with those wicked teeth. "Best thing this side've Termina. The inlanders pay us major dough for this stuff; guess it's a delicacy or something. Anyway. You gonna try some?"

Link eyed the bowl of tentacles with a doubtful expression. "Octorok. I... don't think I'm hungry enough for that, actually."

"Your loss," Kalau said with a shrug.

They strategized while they ate, in a quiet corner of the stage where they could watch the comings and goings of the Zora at the banquet tables without being bothered. Sitting with his legs dangling from the shell-like stage platform and the water below swirling cool around his feet, Link chewed slowly and watched as Kalau casually plucked a few strings of his fish-bone guitar. Another Zora, who had been introduced as Kalau's "best mate" Moramoa, beat its palms against the drum settled between its knees, setting a quick steady rhythm for Kalau's riffs. It was less unusual than Kalau -with his sharp teeth and angular Gyorg fins- and thus completely identical to every other Zora in the hall, making it impossible to tell if the individual was male or female. ...And Link was reluctant to face the awkwardness that would come with asking.

The guitar hummed and buzzed, and Kalau played a chord at random. "_Let me tell about this girl I knew; she met a boy and his eyes were blue…_So, your mate... what was his name? The one you're looking for out west?"

"I don't actually know," Link admitted. "Midna and I were just given some very basic directions to find him, and we seem to have come to the end of those." He exchanged looks with Midna, who was gulping down shrimp two or three at a time. It really did seem as if she hadn't eaten in months. "I think we should tell them," he suggested. "Everything, I mean. They can help us."

She paused for a moment, to swallow, and finally nodded.

"_His eyes were blue but his heart was black; told her to wait but he never came back... _Tell us what?" Kalau asked.

And so Link told him. Everything, the Fever, the goats dying, summoning Midna from the Realm of Twilight, Lanayru's strange instructions, the desert, the sandstorm, waking up on the beach of Termina, a world away from home...

"_Took everything, and he gave me a lie… _Wow, dude. Rough week, huh?_" _Kalau muttered absentmindedly, strumming his guitar. "Hey Moramoa, what rhymes with 'lie'? Oh yeah..._He left with my heart but he left me to die..._ I'm thinking some power chords before the chorus there."

"That's it?" Midna said sharply. "That's all you've got to say? People are _dying_ back in Hyrule."

Kalau laughed. "Of Tremoring Fever? Dude, not even _kids_ die of that. I had it when I was eight, didn't I, Mori?"

They gaped at him.

"You mean you have a cure for it?" Link asked, and there was hope in his voice, wonderful summer sunlight hope that he never thought he would dare feel again.

"Nah, you just gotta stick it out. You're sick and shaky for a few days and then it's over."

"Oh." The feeling was once again snuffed out. Link went back to poking, slightly despondently, at the food on his plate. "That doesn't sound like the same disease."

"Different disease, same name, maybe," Kalau suggested. "So you guys really are in trouble then? And you need to find this... painted sun and moon?"

"Sounds familiar, doesn't it," Moramoa muttered aside to Kalau, and the other Zora nodded slowly.

"Yeah... But I can't think of where I've heard it. The thing is," he explained rather apologetically to Link and Midna, "that the Zora don't really... go out much anymore. Sure, a hundred years ago or whatever we'd have bands touring all over Termina, but we've kinda lost touch. Most of us have never even been outside the Great Bay, so we can't really help you much. The rest of the world ain't really our stomping grounds."

Midna gave the two Zora an ironic grin. "You're better off than us. We were just dumped here, without so much as a map to show us which part of the wilderness we're lost in."

"Oh, well if it's a _map _you need," Kalau said, returning the smile and showing off his triangular teeth, "Maybe we _can_ help you."

"We don't have any maps, Kalau," Moramoa protested, but Kalau's smile only grew wider.

"Yeah, but I'll bet you those pirates further up the coast do."

Link caught Midna's eye, and she shrugged uncomprehendingly. _Pirates?_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Early that morning, following the instructions given to him by Jalhalla, Segwu retrieved his missing scimitar from the chest of an extremely bewildered Redead and left the blighted kingdom of Ikana. The weak scent of magic still lingered around the ashes of the previous evening's bonfire, where the Lantern Man had opened his fist and released it into the night. The Garo could taste it on the air, faint and tinny.

_Your people are assassins and spies,_ Jalhalla had said, and as Segwu followed the fading trail of magic out of the dead canyon and into the green, thriving swampland beyond, he was inclined to feel pride in that. He moved like wind through the trees, stirring their branches as he rushed past, invisible to all but those whose eyes were fine-tuned to see into the realm of the occult. As the air grew hot and humid and the ground turned to mud and water beneath him, his footfalls made barely a ripple. He was the wind, he was the silent assassin, he was death on the swiftest of feet... and now that he knew the taste of that magic, he could follow it to the ends of the earth.

Deep in the heart of the swamp, where the hanging vines and mossy branches grew together so thickly that only a spirit could have passed, two white-haired old women sat together on the porch of a tiny, teapot-shaped hut and gazed out at the water.

They watched as it rippled, ever so slightly.

One took a sip of herbal tea from the little clay mug in her dark, weathered hands, and cackled quietly to herself. "Did you see that, Kotake?"

The other woman swirled the dregs of her tea around in her mug as she peered nearsightedly at where the water had been disturbed. The ripples had spread across their little portion of the swamp and the water was already going still again. "A Garo, wasn't it?" she asked, being one of the gifted few who could see spirits. "And so far from Ikana. What do you make of that, Koume?"

Koume tapped the red gem on her forehead. "Jalhalla's found another victim to chase after; I'd bet my bindi on it. Another pretty redhead, no doubt. Hmph, we're well out of that."

"Well out of that," Kotake agreed.

The two of them sat in silence on the porch and listened to the buzz of mosquitoes and the faint slosh of swamp water while they finished their tea.

And Segwu ran on.

**-o{}o-**

Kalau's voice carried loudly across the warm blue waters of the Great Bay. It was a balmy, cloudless day, and a light breeze played across the surface of the sparkling ocean and swirled around Link, Midna, and Moramoa as they sat along the shore and basked in the pleasant warmth of the sunlight. It had taken another long swim to get here, as Zora Hall was a ways offshore and its entrance hidden underwater to boot, but Link, lying on his back in the sand and stripped of his boots, gear, and tunic while he waited for the sun to dry them, didn't particularly mind having gotten wet.

In a way, swimming through the crystal clear waters of the bay reminded him of when he had first been getting to know Midna, back when he was just a means to and end in her eyes and she took far too much pleasure in teasing and tormenting him. Staying close to the surface and making steady, even strokes, he had watched Midna and the two Zora dart playfully around one another in the water far below him, occasionally flipping over onto their backs to grin up at him and mock his fragile Hylian body's need to breathe. Midna's hair trailed ghostly in the water behind her, the orange of it strangely bright against a background turned soft and blue-green by the water-filtered light.

He remembered... when was it? The forest temple? ...When he had first seen that hair float like slow loops of fire through the murky water around her grinning face.

Yes, it had been the forest temple, because he remembered very clearly the rather one-sided exchange of dialogue that had occurred after he had unthinkingly dropped off a moss-covered ledge into a pool of water that turned out to be a lot deeper than it looked.

The water was icy. He sank immediately to the bottom and flailed his arms and legs unsuccessfully, stirring up a large cloud of silt but unable to rise to the surface again. The tiny shape that was Midna, in a form made only of shadows save for her fiery hair, rose from his wavering shadow and beamed at him as he struggled.

"You, boy, are an idiotic addlebrain. I'm just going to wait here for a minute while you think about how much of an idiot you are."

He tried to snap back at her, but the water muffled his voice and only a cloud of moderately sized bubbles rose from his mouth.

"Do you know _why_ you're an idiot, farmboy?" she asked, and it seemed she was quite enjoying herself as the hero's lungs started to ache and the annoyance in his eyes turned to panic. "It's because you're wearing a chainmail hauberk. Made of metal. And on your back you've got a lovely sharp sword. Which is also made of metal. And you are trying to swim."

The burning in his lungs was growing more insistent, and Link waved his arms at her as quickly as he could in the murky water, trying to motion for help. Midna laughed musically. "Oh no, farmboy. You got yourself into this, so let's see you get out of it."

Giving up on Midna, Link fumbled desperately with the buckle of his baldric so he could free himself from the weight of his sword. His fingers were going numb from the chill water.

"Oh, you're completely hopeless," the imp muttered, rolling her eyes, and a moment later there was the electric orange crackle of her magic surrounding him and it seemed as though all weight had vanished from his body. Quickly, Link struck out for the surface and broke through with a gasp, shaking his head to keep his sopping wet hair out of his eyes.

"You-" he half choked, but she merely laughed again, having risen with him and now perched on the edge of the platform from which he had leapt.

"Don't give me that look, you're like a soggy puppy. I helped you out, didn't I? Guess I can't just let you drown," she added to herself, thoughtfully, "If you're going to be my big strong hero and get the fused shadows for me. Maybe afterwards."

Link dragged himself up beside her and sat down to wring the water out of his clothes. He was suddenly heavy again, Midna's magic having apparently run its course. "What did you do?"

"I improved your stupid hero outfit," she said haughtily. "Twilight magic. Your little mind probably wouldn't understand."

"But what did you _do_? It was like I wasn't wearing any metal at all. Will that happen every time I try to swim?"

"You Light-Dwellers are so cute when you try to grasp abstract concepts," Midna giggled, and she sank back into his shadow again without another word.

He didn't call her out again since it would only guarantee more of the same patronizing taunts, but Link made a mental note to thank her later for the small act of kindness she had shown him. It seemed like such things didn't come easily to her.

After that, his sword and hauberk might as well not have existed when he entered the water, becoming light and buoyant as soon as they got wet. Nowadays he tended to forget about it entirely. Still, the image of Midna darting across the sandy ocean floor in a motion that was more flying than swimming reminded him, and he smiled because the memory was a fond one. Somehow, after so much time repressing every memory of her, they all became fond.

Back in the present, the ocean roared softly and the sand was warm against his back.

Sitting beside where Link was sprawled out to dry, Moramoa had collected a pile of small, flat rocks, and was skipping them one by one across the water in a way very reminiscent of Ordonian children lounging by the stream that turned the town's waterwheel. They didn't go far; the choppiness of the waves saw to that, but the Zora seemed happily occupied nonetheless. Link still had no idea what gender it was.

"So, you guys are from another world," Moramoa said lightly, over the sound Kalau's distant shouting.

"I'm surprised you and Kalau are taking it so calmly," Midna replied, picking up one of Moramoa's skipping stones and lobbing it at the waves, where it failed to skip. "At the very least we thought you'd assume we were insane."

The Zora shrugged.

_Just ask,_ Link found himself thinking. _Are you male or female? The longer I wait the more awkward it's going to be._

"I suppose," said Moramoa slowly, "It's got something to do with our mythology. Or maybe it's just the way Termina is. There are stories all over the place about people coming through from other worlds."

Midna gave the gender-ambiguous Zora a puzzled look. "You mean coming through the gap between dimensions?"

"Well, I don't know much about dimensions or magic," the Zora responded, "But I've heard a lot of stories, and they way they talk it's like Termina's a room with really thin walls or something. Stuff breaks through all over the place. Sometimes it's people who come through. Anyway, it's just how things are, so it doesn't exactly surprise us."

The Twilight Princess frowned thoughtfully and stared out at the way the sun sparkled against the water. "That's like what happened to Hyrule, when the twilight first appeared. Zant broke through from our world. But I never realized there were other worlds, besides just the Twilight and the Light."

"Tons of 'em," Moramoa said offhandedly. "If they didn't exist, where would we get great stories like The Boy Who Killed The Moon?"

"Termina doesn't have a moon?" Link asked. He was still lying on his back, and his eyes swept the clear blue sky as if expecting to see the moon's faint silhouette.

"Nah, we've got one," said the Zora with a laugh. "He just tends to hide when the sun's out. The Boy Who Killed The Moon didn't _really_ kill the moon, it's more of a... an honor title, I guess. For a hero who did plenty of other impressive stuff."

"Ah yes, well, we know all about heroes in our world, don't we, oh Sacred Beast?" Midna chuckled, casting a glance at Link. "We've got one of our own. Probably not as impressive as yours, though." Link made a face at her.

"Hey, don't feel bad, ours is pretty hard to top," said Moramoa. "They say he had this blue... I forget, it was like a flute or something, and he used it to travel through time. It wasn't even magic, either. He just had to know the right song and he could bend the world around him."

Link was reminded briefly of Kalau's words from the day before. _Music's got power, when you play it right._ So the concept came from Termina's oldest legends, then, stories of its heroes told by generations of storytellers. His curiosity was piqued. After all, Hyrule had stories of its own. "What song was this?" he asked.

"Hey, if I knew I'd be off having adventures, now wouldn't I?" Moramoa joked. "Nah, half of the reason the Zora revere music so much is because of those old stories, but nobody knows the sacred songs. The Boy Who Killed The Moon had a song for everything, though. He could turn back time and live a day over again, or he could speed it up and skip the day altogether. He had a song for transporting himself to anywhere in the world, and a song to control the weather and make it rain whenever he was tired of looking at the sun. They say he even had a song to summon the gods."

"Much better than _our_ lousy hero, then," Midna laughed. "Ours turns into a great big puppy." She reached over and toyed with Link's hair, and he made no move to stop her. "He's a wonderfully obedient puppy, though. He must have had a great trainer."

Link gave her a small smile. "I hear he bites."

"Am I missing something here?" Moramoa asked, a little nonplussed.

"Not at all," said Midna. "What exactly is Kalau up to, anyway?"

The three of them turned to look out across the water, in the direction of Kalau's distant shouting. Their view was mostly obscured by a large outcropping of rocks jutting out into the water, but beyond this Link could make out what looked like the top of a large manmade structure: a high wall made from gray brick. As far as he knew the guitarist was somewhere at the foot of the structure, shouting up at it as if expecting it to reply.

"Well..." Moramoa said, looking a little uncomfortable. "This part of the bay technically belongs to the pirates. That's their fortress over there beyond the rocks. Kalau's always been kinda... reckless. He thinks he can just walk right up to their walls and scream at them until they give him the map we're after."

"What _are_ the pirates?" Link asked. "Some kind of monster?"

"Hah, that's a good way to put it. Y'see, some of these other worlds I was talking about are out across the ocean. They come here a lot in boats, bringing things to trade. All kinds of weird stuff: animals and clothes and foods that don't grow here, that kind of thing. We buy it from them with stuff from Termina that they don't have in their worlds, and then we sell it to the inlanders. The pirates are this gang of women who decided it would be easier just to attack the ships every once in a while and take everything by force."

The androgynous Zora gazed out at where the waves met the distant skyline, and picked up another stone. "I've seen it happen... They use some combination of magic and clockwork to make their boats go really fast, and they overtake the larger ships and board them. Sometimes they kill the captain or the whole crew, and there'll be blood running off the deck and drawing every Gyorg in the bay." The skipping stone flew from Moramoa's webbed fingers and struck the water once before sinking. "I hear their fortress is full of stolen treasure, but there's nothing we can do about it. If you try to break in they just whip you and throw you in a cell somewhere."

"And Kalau thinks he can just get away with walking up and shouting at them to give him a map?" said Midna skeptically.

"Like I said, he's reckless." Moramoa sighed. "Rumor has it his father was a Gyorg, and that's why he's so keen on danger. Don't tell him I said that, though. Anyway, he's kinda done this before."

They went silent as a second voice joined Kalau's, also shouting. The words were distorted by distance, but it sounded to Link like a young woman, presumably one of the all-female pirates. The exchange went on for a minute, and then there was silence, and a moment later they saw the Gyorg-like Zora swimming back towards them around the outcropping of rock, the large triangular fin on his head cutting quickly through the water. He surfaced in the shallows and joined them, a somewhat hopeless smile on his face.

"So yeah, that didn't work."

"We noticed," Moramoa muttered. "You're lucky she didn't skewer you with her spear and drag you inside to be flogged or something."

"Nah, the guard on the wall was that short one with the braids, and you know she totally digs me."

"She does not, Kalau."

Kalau nudged his friend in the shoulders. "Come on, you've seen the way she looks at me."

"With contempt?"

"Aw, forget you."

Moramoa turned apologetically to Link and Midna and explained, "Kalau kinda has a crush on this pirate girl. He comes around here all the time to try and impress her. One time he dragged me over here to help him play a love song at the walls of the fortress. She threw a harpoon at us."

"She's in denial," Kalau insisted. "Anyway, she won't give us a map, so we'll just have to sneak in somehow and steal one."

Moramoa gave him a horrified look. "Sneak in?! Dude, they'd kill us!"

"Not if we don't get caught," said Kalau.

"No!" Moramoa argued. "No, no, you are not doing this. _We_ are not doing this. Right, guys?"

"I'd be fine with sneaking in," Midna said, shrugging, and Link nodded in agreement. "Believe it or not, we've done this kind of thing before as well."

"Seems easy enough," Link muttered. "Midna, do you think you could fly over the wall and-"

"It's not flying," she interrupted. "And before you suggest anything, I can already see that there's some kind of magical barrier around the walls. We're not getting in that way."

Kalau's sharp teeth flashed in the sunlight as he grinned widely. "Forget that, Moramoa and I know another way in. We used it last month."

"To deliver a love letter," Moramoa moaned.

"Yeah. It's underwater, so they won't even see us coming."

"Until you get inside and they're all there waiting for you," the gender-ambiguous Zora snapped at him. "Because with all that shouting you were doing they must know you're going to try and get inside. Come on, do we really need a map?"

"Moramoa, I told my mates I was getting them a map, so I am totally getting them a freakin' map."

While the two Zora were arguing, Midna caught Link's eye and gave him a rather significant look. "I bet you I could do it. Get in, get the map, and get out without being caught."

The hero had to agree. As a Twili, Midna had all kinds of tricks to stay out of sight, passing through solid objects and melting into the shadows like some kind of phantom. No guard would spot her. Him, on the other hand...

"I can't just turn invisible at will," he reminded her. "If I come with you, we'd both be caught."

"Then don't come with me," she teased. "Honestly Link, I've survived without you before. Just play in the sand or something while you wait; something this simple will hardly take long."

"Are you sure you'll be alri-" There was that orange magic scent flashing strong across his senses, and Link abruptly found himself levitated a few inches above the sand, invisibly bound and completely immobile.

"I am the _Twilight Princess_, farmboy," the Twili hissed playfully. "I am twilight incarnate. Nothing can _touch_ me."

"Midna, I believe you, but-"

"But what," she asked, lifting him higher with her magic. "Still worried?"

"No, but Kalau and Moramoa are staring at us."

"Oh," she said, and dropped him. Link landed on his feet, lost his balance, and sat down heavily. The Zora had indeed abandoned their argument and were staring, wide-eyed, at Midna's sudden display of magic.

"Dude," Kalau muttered slowly. "You some kinda witch?"

"You could call it that," Midna said with a wry smile. "And if you show me how to get into the fortress, I think I can magic myself past those guards."

Kalau and Moramoa exchanged looks of sudden glee, with a shared "_Sweet._"

"Hey, if you can do that," Kalau continued, "Even a total pansy like Moramoa can't argue. Let's do this thing."

"Let's totally do this thing," echoed Moramoa.

And the thing was totally done.

**-o{}o-**

Midna, Kalau, and Moramoa left Link to wait on the beach as they made the long swim out to where the fortress nestled hidden behind the long pinnacle of rock concealing it from the rest of the bay. The Hylian was ill equipped for this kind of stealth; the entire swim would have to be made deep underwater to avoid the notice of the sharp-eyed sentries patrolling the walls.

Midna moved effortlessly and fluidly with the current, and the salty water passed through her lungs as easily as if it were air. It was something she had never really understood. She could drown in the water of the Twilight Realm just as easily as anyone, but the strange, shadowy detachment from reality her body experienced in the Light World seemed enough to make the water around her nearly incorporeal.

Just ahead, the two Zora swam with wavelike oscillations that made them seem boneless, exactly the way she remembered the Zora back in Hyrule swimming. In silence save for the rush of water from the muted waves above, they swam deeper and further out to sea. The silt and churned-up sand near the ocean floor made the clear water murky and subtly golden, and the world around them was lit with shifting patterns of greenish light like shafts of sun through the stained-glass windows of an ancient cathedral.

Still gliding along in the wake of the Zora, Midna slowed to admire the large, multicolored shells scattered across the sand. The dark shape of a sunken skiff loomed through the murk not far off, almost completely covered in bright coral and wispy algae, with a few tiny fish darting between the floating tendrils.

"You think that's cool?" Kalau asked, turning around and swimming backwards so he could watch her. Unlike Midna's voice, which carried perfectly underwater, Kalau's was somewhat garbled. The thin gill-slits on his neck opened and closed rapidly.

Midna had spent enough time in Kalau's company by now to puzzle out what his thickly accented slang meant via context. "It's alright," she muttered vaguely, trying to imply that the weird shelled creatures that lived on the bottom of rocks in Hyrule's waterways were of course much more interesting.

Kalau laughed, raising a large cloud of tiny bubbles. "That's one of the pirate's ships. Sank in a storm a couple decades ago."

They swam on.

The walls of the fortress loomed above them. They extended all the way through the sand, silt, and sediment to the solid rock below, and they continued on along the shore for a few hundred feet, gray, solid, severe, and as far as Midna could tell, magically protected and completely impenetrable. With a completely deadpan look on his face, as if he'd done this a hundred times before, Kalau swam to the very base of the wall and began to slowly and methodically knock on each individual brick.

"There's a secret entrance here," Moramoa explained. "It all looks like brick, but part of the wall is made of wood and you can open it like a door. We think it's to prevent flooding or something."

"Found it!" Kalau called, and sure enough he was pulling aside part of the wall to reveal an upward sloping passageway lined with the same gray brick and carpeted with sand. Sunlight shone through the water at the far end. "You're on your own from here, witch-chick."

Midna nodded toward him and flashed a wry smile. "You act like this will be _difficult._" She darted through the revealed entrance and barely had time to call out "See you on the beach!" before the tunnel closed in around her and the Zora were out of sight.

After she had gone a few short yards, the underwater passageway was flooded with sunlight, and Midna found herself swimming out across the sandy floor of a small, manmade cove, surrounded by those high gray walls she had seen from the outside. Hidden in the depths below, she watched with interest as the shadows of boats glided across the sea bottom. They were patrolling the surface of the water far above her head, and as she watched them she could sense the magic Moramoa had mentioned. It spun the blades of what looked like large clockwork propellers protruding from the rear of each ship and made them glide through the water with a low roaring hum, faster than any ship without a sail should be able to travel.

The Twilight Princess swam slowly upward with her eyes fixed on the patrolling ships. She was free to take her time; it wasn't as if she'd have to come up for air. Like she'd assured Link, even if the guards spotted her she doubted they'd be able to harm her before she obliterated them with twilight magic... But some part of her wanted to know how far she could get on stealth alone. This was something familiar, an adventure, a _challenge._ She was finally back in the Light World where she belonged, and she was on another quest to save the world. Her chest was tight with the thrill of it. And the best part was, she didn't have to feel guilty about leaving her people to die while she was off having fun, because she was doing this to save them. She _was_ a good ruler, after all. The best ruler. And nothing at all like Zant.

With a wide grin, Midna positioned herself just under the hull of one of the boats and swam along beneath it. She waited until it was close to shore, where she spotted a low ledge that looked like a good place to pull herself out of the water, before venturing out from beneath its cover. The red-headed pirate girl piloting the boat never so much as glanced around as the Twili slid silently out of the water and crouched, dripping, on the shore behind her. Before the second boat was close enough to spot her, Midna had darted off to explore the rest of the fortress.

A small, roughly-tiled courtyard strewn with miscellaneous crates and barrels separated the cove from the main body of the fort, and Midna ducked behind one of these boxes to avoid the prying eyes of the pirates patrolling the area while she examined the structure. Most of the pirate's lair was a series of gray brick buildings built into the natural cliffs of this part of the Great Bay's shoreline. Through the few and narrow window slits, Midna could occasionally catch a glimpse of red hair -guards walking along the corridors, and there seemed to be plenty of them. Midna's smile grew wider. Whatever treasures they were guarding must be extremely valuable. Perhaps she'd leave with more than just a map, if only to see the look on Link's face when she smugly handed him a fistful of jewels and told him not to spend them on anything stupid.

Alerted by the sound of footsteps approaching across the courtyard tiles, Midna shrank back into the shade of the crate she was concealed behind and allowed her body to slowly melt away. By the time the guard passed by the courtyard was once again empty. Only the most perceptive of watchers would have noticed the tiny flicker of darkness across the sunlit tile, as something slid quietly into the pirate's shadow.

**-o{}o-**

Link was the first to know about Segwu of the Garo.

The breeze blew softly and the sun beat down warm on Link's bare shoulders as he sat alone on the beach, occasionally drawing spirals in the dry, white-gold sand with the blade of his Ordonian sword, and wondering when Midna and the two Zora would return. He felt strangely impatient, and he knew he shouldn't. People were dying back in Hyrule. _Ilia_ was dying, but no matter how impatient he was, no matter how much he tried to rush things, finding the cure would take time. He had to resign himself to that.

_But I'm doing something about it. If nothing else, I'm _trying_. _The thought didn't make him feel any better. When he was around other people, dancing with Midna or trying to keep Kalau from poisoning him with octorok, he could push it out of his mind for a while. But alone like this, with nothing to distract him or keep him from thinking, he couldn't stop worrying about Ilia.

_I should write her a letter._

He blinked, and stared down at the words "dear Ilia" scratched into the sand.

_I'm being stupid,_ said the part of him that loved Midna. _Write her a letter? How would I send it? I'm in another world entirely._

_I never told her goodbye. _His sword made a wide sweep, and the words were brushed away. _I should have at least left a message for her with Renado. _What if she woke up while he was gone, with no idea where he was or why he had abandoned her when she needed him the most? The thought turned his stomach. He should have left a message for her. He should have done _something._

_Maybe I don't love her as much as I thought I did, _the voice suggested.

_I love her more than anything, _he answered it angrily, realizing at the same time that it was absolutely pointless to be arguing with his own mind. _I don't have to put up with you. You're just the cruel little voice in the back of my head. Be quiet._

_Liaaaar... _it whispered as it faded away.

With a sigh, Link began rifling through his discarded belongings to see if the sun had finished drying them. That voice was beginning to worry him. At first he'd put it down to stress or a guilty conscience, but as time went on that quiet little voice was becoming more and more insistent. It wasn't normal, arguing with yourself like that.

His clothing was indeed dry, and so Link located his boots and slipped into the thin chainmail of his hauberk before going about pulling his tunic on over his head. It wasn't until he reached for his baldric that he noticed it: a small, fist-sized package wrapped in twine and plain brown paper, sitting unobtrusively in the sand next to one of the pouches on his belt. He picked it up and turned it over curiously in his hands.

"And where did you come from, I wonder?"

The realization slowly dawned on Link that this was the package Renado the Shaman had given him at the beginning of his journey. There had been so much going on at the time, he remembered, so much to do and to worry about, that he had shoved the thing into his belt and proceeded to forget about it completely. It must have fallen out of the pouch when he'd taken off his belt and cast it aside to dry. The Ordonian toyed with the knot binding the twine. Renado had warned him not to unwrap it while he was still in Kakariko, so maybe he was supposed to open it in Termina?

Driven mainly by curiosity, he pulled on the twine and the knot came undone. Link's fingers found the edge of the paper and he started to tear it away. From deep within the folds of aged brown parchment, there was a glint of blue.

It was a... thing. He had no other word for it. Link pulled it out of its paper cocoon and held it up to examine. It was deep blue and oblong and about the size of his fist, and looked as if it had been sculpted from porcelain, except he'd never seen porcelain with so dark and rich a color. It had a mouthpiece like the one on his horse whistle and a line of small holes which, when he held it just right, could be perfectly covered by his fingertips. A musical instrument.

Link went slightly red in the face. There was a certain tradition in Ordon regarding musical instruments...

But Renado was from Kakariko, far in the rocky country to the northeast, and he wouldn't know about that. Clearly, he'd given Link this... thing, because he'd thought the hero would need it for some reason or another. But what would he need it for? Link turned the thing over thoughtfully in his hands. The sunlight shone like liquid off its polished surface. Well, he hadn't the faintest idea how to play it, and while it did indeed look extremely valuable, made with such craftsmanship from that strange, not-quite-porcelain material, he had a feeling he wasn't meant to sell it.

His eyes caught the little gold symbol set into the mouthpiece and noted that it was the same as the triforce birthmark on his hand. He wasn't sure what that signified. The triforce was a holy symbol, and represented the goddesses and the Hylian royal family, so perhaps the thing was a religious relic meant to bring him good luck on his quest. To Link, who had spent a lot of time exploring ancient temples and was rather superstitious due to the fact he _knew_ the goddesses existed – and he knew this because they had set plenty of traps to crush, impale, and otherwise kill him – this sounded like a plausible reason. Already it seemed to be working; mere hours after being unceremoniously dumped into a strange new world he'd managed to find a good meal, a warm bed, and a pair of allies in the form of Kalau and Moramoa. Link gave the thing a little rub with his triforce hand and muttered a somewhat awkward "thank you," wondering what Midna would say if she caught him talking to an inanimate object. The thanks was somewhat meant for Renado as well.

And then his pointed ears twitched, because traveling towards him on the beach and growing ever louder, there was the distant howl of wind. No, not wind, but the sound still air makes when something inconceivably fast travels through it.

Link dropped the instrument and stood up, staring out across the endless sweep of sand that bordered the Great Bay. It seemed deserted, but he knew, in the same way that his nose could pick up smells that only the wolf should have been able to sense, that there was something running towards him, something his eyes couldn't see, and that something was running with a speed no mortal should be capable of.

Link was the first to know about Segwu of the Garo, because Segwu of the Garo almost collided with him.

At the last minute that invisible runner veered sharply to the left at an impossible right angle, and met the sea with a _splash_ that sent a cloud of spray leaping into the salty air.

All this happened in a fraction of a second, and then it was gone.

Link blinked again, dazedly, because there didn't seem to be any other proper reaction. What was that, some kind of poe? New world, new monsters, he reminded himself forcibly, and bent to pick up the blue thing from where it lay in the sand, hoping that being so rudely dropped wouldn't affect its luck-giving properties. Now that he knew the invisible fast creature existed, it wouldn't take him by surprise again.

_Next time I'll go for my sword, instead of standing there like an idiot and waiting for it to plough me over,_ said the voice in his head, sounding suspiciously like Midna.

_I told you to be quiet._

**-o{}o-**

Kalau and Moramoa were the second to know about Segwu of the Garo, for a far more sinister reason.

The waves danced, far above their heads, and they swam with the current, neither aware of what was about to happen to them. They were returning to the beach when something shot right between them, leaving a cloud of tiny jewel-bright bubbles in its wake.

Moramoa spun around in the water to stare after it. "What was-?"

But before the androgynous Zora could so much as finish this sentence the thing had abruptly reversed, and was shooting back towards them on a jet of bubbles. For a split second Moramoa thought there was a pair of glowing, blue-green eyes floating disembodied where the thing's face should have been, and then the invisible thing struck Kalau hard in the back.

The Gyorg-like Zora gave off a pained gasp and instinctively wrapped his arms around himself with a grimace.

"Dude, you okay?" Moramoa asked, and knew immediately that it was a stupid thing to say. That thing had been traveling faster than a crossbow bolt!

Kalau moaned wordlessly in a way that nevertheless seemed to communicate: "what do _you_ think, you idiot, and also my spine may be broken."

"Ah, right," said Moramoa.

"Man, what _was_ that?" Kalau groaned, looking around for whatever had hit him like a battering ram. "Did you see it?"

Moramoa shrugged, which is a rather difficult task to accomplish when underwater. "It was invisible. A poe or something. Hey, I mean it though. Are you... okay?"

For even as Moramoa watched, Kalau's sinuous body had gone suddenly rigid, and his webbed hands were clutching his forearms tightly enough to leave scratches on the slick blue skin. "Oh gods..."

"Kalau?"

"Oh gods..." he hissed again, painfully. He closed his eyes and clutched at his head. "Oh gods oh gods oh _freaking gods_ there's something in my _head!_"

Moramoa started at Kalau uncomprehendingly. "In your head? You mean like...?"

With an unearthly wail that should not have been able to come from a Zora's throat, Kalau's eyes shot open. They should have been shiny black all over, Moramoa thought, like any other Zora's, but just for this moment, they glowed an incandescent blue-green. Then Kalau's fist shot out and connected with the side of Moramoa's head in an audible _crack_ of bone on bone, and the world went black.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Kalau rose from the waves like some ancient leviathan. Water poured in sheets off his turquoise skin and made runnels in the sand as he stepped slowly and purposefully out of the churning white surf and strode up the beach, a twisted grin on his face.

Standing across from the Zora on the high and dry ground, Link stood stiffly and watched him through narrowed eyes. His left hand tightened almost imperceptibly on his sword, held unsheathed at his side with a tenseness that hinted at tight muscles just beneath the surface of his skin, ready to swing the blade and strike.

They stared at each other across the beach, and time stood still.

For a brief moment Link was back in the ruined mansion on Snowpeak mountain, the icy cold biting his skin and the snow falling feathery around him and crunching beneath the soaking wet soles of his boots, and there was a towering door in front of him, coated with frost and just beginning to swing open as his numb white fingers clicked a huge, heart-shaped key into place. Heat rolled out in waves that made the air in front of his eyes shimmer and he walked inside the massive circular bedroom, tracking muddied slurry onto the rich red carpet and not caring.

And there she was, Yeta, the gentle she-beast of Snowpeak mountain, standing at the far end of the room with her back turned to him. She was a good foot taller than him and covered in a quilt-like pattern of soft white fur, and everything about her was calm and kind and motherly. She was everything a mother should be; she was the personification of all those lonely little wishes made by a boy without parents, as he lay in bed at night and wished he hadn't been forced to grow up quite so soon.

"_Not take mirror..."_ she'd said, and a part of his childhood had died.

It's a difficult thing, driving an eighty pound ball-and-chain into your mother's skull. No matter how sincerely she'd forgiven him afterwards, no matter how happily she'd smiled at him, offered him her husband's homemade fish soup, or challenged him to a friendly race down the icy mountain trails, Link couldn't help but relive that moment of beating her senseless every time he looked at her face.

He hadn't given so much as a second thought to brutally slaughtering any of Zant's other cursed monsters, but that first night after retrieving the mirror shard he'd come to collect from Snowpeak Ruins, he'd cried about her: the one monster who hadn't wanted to fight.

Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise after all. When Kalau first arose from the water, wearing a cruel smile the likes of which Link had never before seen on the friendly young Zora's face, he didn't even need the frantic howling of the wolf in the back of his mind to tell him that something was wrong. He already knew. He could see it in the eerie, malevolent glow of Kalau's blue-green eyes.

Gone was the Zora's swaying stride. Kalau moved like a puppet on too-taut strings, and his arms and legs made jerky, twitching motions even when he stood completely still. Whoever was pulling those strings was an inexperienced puppeteer, but they were undoubtedly in control. Kalau had been possessed.

The Zora took a step forward, and Link raised his sword threateningly. "Stop. I know what you are underneath that skin, and I'm prepared to beat you out of it." His voice was flat and steady.

The thing controlling Kalau's body paused and gave Link a wicked smile, flashing row upon row of those triangular, razor sharp teeth, teeth that suddenly looked a hundred times deadlier now that they were in the mouth of an enemy. _"__O-si-yo,__"_ it murmured, and Kalau's normal accent was replaced by a softer, reedy inflection, speaking a language of short, sharp syllables.

If it meant to frighten him it failed. Link's steely eyes never wavered and his sword remained pointed at its heart. "I don't understand your language," he told it, coldly, "But if you understand mine then I'm telling you to abandon that body and go." If only it would listen to him; if only he could talk it down without a fight, the way he'd failed to do with Yeta...

"I understand you, _awi-na_," the Kalau-creature answered in somewhat archaic Hylian, its smile growing ever wider. It took another step, to the left this time, and Link mirrored it. "But you are wrong in thinking that you know what I am."

"What are you, then?"

Another step, and another, and then they were slowly circling each other, their feet moving almost in unison. Despite Kalau's grin, Link could see the Zora's eyes flickering back and forth from the Hero's face to his sword. It was wary of him. It knew it was weaponless, and it was stalling for time, waiting for him to look away or lower his blade so it could attack without being impaled.

"_Garo_." Whether this was the name of its race or simply another word in its strange language Link wasn't sure.

They circled. The waves roared gently off to one side.

The Kalau-creature flexed its webbed fingers as if testing out the muscles that moved them. "Where is the other one, the _asaloni-ge_?"

"The what?"

"Orange. The orange-magic one who was with you?"

Link faltered slightly in his step, the memory of Midna's sharp orange scent flashing across his mind. "Midna? You can smell her magic?"

"It is all over your clothes,_ awi-na_, but I know it does not belong to you. She is a woman? Your friend?" Its words carried the faintest hint of a threat.

Part of Link wanted to scream at it: don't you dare hurt her, don't you dare even try it, or I will hunt you down and I will tear you apart, but even as he thought it he knew it was foolish. Midna could take care of herself. She was protected by powerful magic and he'd seen her use it. The creature was only trying to get a rise out of him in hopes that he would lose focus or do something stupid. He was above mind-games like that.

_Then why am I grinding my teeth?_

They circled. Their feet shifted in the white-gold sand.

"You have let your guard down, _awi-na_," the Kalau-creature taunted softly. "You have given me an advantage."

"You wouldn't be able to hurt Midna," Link retorted. "You can't possess her, and she's stronger than you. You can't use her as a threat."

"I did not mean that." It stopped at last and watched him across the few meager feet of sand between them, and the sun glinted off Kalau's teeth and Link's sword. "_Awi-na_, the ocean is at your back."

In the space of one agonizingly long second, Link realized exactly what had gone wrong. _Oh goddesses, he lured me into circling around and now he has the high ground. It's been too long since I fought anything other than Bublins; I never should have fallen for that and now he's going to-_

With a high-pitched cry, Kalau sprinted forward and sent a fist flying toward Link's face. The Hero's blade came up instinctively and there was a ring like that of metal on metal as it glanced off the Zora's stiff arm-fin. Kalau shoved it violently away and the sword went flying from Link's grasp and landed with a _thunk_ in the sand. Its other fist struck Link hard in the stomach, winding him.

Link stumbled backward, and the current swirled around his boots with a sucking sound. He recovered just in time to duck out of the way of Kalau's next punch, and as the Zora's fist passed perilously close to his head, Link grabbed it by the forearm and gave a hearty jerk, at the same time bringing his leg up and driving it into the creature's chest. The lightweight Zora was thrown backwards by the force of the blow, but Link's grip on its arm wrenched it around and it landed with a splash on its back in the shallows.

Link placed one muddied boot over its throat, gently, but with a firm determination that told it just how easily he could step down and crush its windpipe.

"You. Out of that body. Now."

For a moment the Kalau-creature stared up at him with a shocked look on its face, as if it hadn't expected him to know how to fight without a sword. Clearly it had never faced a swordsman who'd been trained in physical combat by Mayor Bo, the only Ordonian (other than Link, after many, _many, _failed attempts) to wrestle a Goron and win. Then, as the shock faded away, that cruel smile returned to its face.

"Do it, then. Kill your Zora friend."

_Yes,_ the part of him that loved Midna whispered. _I'll do it. That thing threatened her. I'll do it without hesitation._

Link's foot didn't move. _I can't kill Kalau._

_I barely even _know _Kalau. I only met him yesterday. Why should it matter to me if he dies?_

_It does matter. He's a good person, and he's already gone through a lot to help me out. What kind of hero would I be if I killed him?_

_The kind that knows how to make sacrifices._

Link shook his head violently and stumbled backwards, away from the grinning creature lying half in water and half in sand. "No," he said aloud. "Not this way. I'll have Midna magic you out if I have to, but I won't end it this way."

"Then you are a fool," the Zora hissed, and lunging forward, it grabbed Link by the legs and sent him sprawling. He hit the water face first, and before he could find his bearings the creature had wrapped its arms around his torso and with a kick of its legs propelled them both into the riptide, which swept them rapidly out to sea.

Link fought his way free of Kalau's grasp. His head broke the surface and he had only enough time to take a shuddering gasp of air before the Zora's webbed fingers were grasping at his tunic and dragging him down into the depths below.

**-o{}o**-

The thin bars of noon sunlight falling through the sporadic windows of the pirate's fortress flickered as a dark silhouette flitted across them, darting from shadow to shadow, flat against the rough, gray-brown stone of the walls and floor. Here it hid in the footsteps of a patrolling guard, there it spooked a large bluish rat and chased its shadow along the wall for a few yards as it tried to scurry away. Occasionally it would discover a stack of crates or a conveniently placed barrel, and pause behind them for a second to catch its breath, looking, for only a moment, like the shade of a crouching woman.

The Twilight Princess was thoroughly enjoying herself. Enveloped in her stealthy shadow form, Midna slunk through the narrow, labyrinthine corridors of the fortress, passing unseen beneath the feet of spear-toting pirates. The hallways of the fortress zigzagged every which way and frequently doubled back on themselves or culminated in dead ends or dusty storerooms packed with nothing but boxes and boxes of useless junk, but Midna quickly found what she was searching for in a small deserted room off one of the main passages.

It looked like some sort of galley. A long table made from aged, weathered wood darkened by the saline air ran the length of the room, and it was lined with mismatched benches, stools with missing legs, and overturned crates made into makeshift seats. Slivers of golden light from the arrow-slit windows fell across the disorganized strata of papers strewn across the tabletop.

With a cathartic sigh Midna's wraithlike body solidified. She stepped out from the shadows and slunk over to the open doorway, peering out into the hall beyond to make sure no guards were on their way. The hallway was empty and silent, save for the distant roar of the sea.

A grin flickered across Midna's face.

It was fascinating work, sifting through the piles of crisp paper and old musty parchment that littered the table. Huge charts had been spread out across the wood, heavily creased and stained in many places with dark rings of mead and cider, their tattered edges weighed down by mostly melted candles and glasses with the dregs of their contents still moldering in the bottom. Seated comfortably on one of the benches, the Twili poured over a few of these with interest, tracing the dark lines of landmasses and island chains with one finger while her eyes tried to decipher the strange languages in which they were labeled. She wasn't at all sure what a map of Termina would look like. Midna knew nothing about the kingdom's geography beyond what she'd seen of the wide sweep of the Great Bay, and so as she rifled through the pirate's collection of maps, she kept her eyes open for that familiar curve of beach and sea.

A hundred lands passed beneath her probing fingers; countries whose names were written only in pictures, mountainous islands and cities with streets that spread out from their centers like the spokes on a wheel. Once she found what could have been a map of Hyrule, but perfectly mirrored, with the desert to the east and the towering bulk of Death Mountain looming in the west. When finally she located a map of Termina, she set it aside and continued to explore. For a few brief but glorious minutes, she traveled the world.

The sound of echoing song and laughter carrying through the halls shattered Midna's reverie.

_"…give a thousand rupees for a wild wind to chase!"_

_ "And steal a thousand rupees and a princess-worth of lace!"_

Not so very far away, the boisterous chanting of a large group of young women rang through the fortress, punctuated by drunken laughter and chatter and drawing ever closer. Suddenly panicky, the Twilight Princess dug hurriedly through the pile of maps she had just been reading in search of the one she'd recognized as Termina. Her fist closed on the dry, yellowing paper, and she crumpled it up inexpertly and banished it to the gap between dimensions. The pirates' singing was loud in her ears.

"Ha, I can one-up that! _I'd give a_ million _rupees for a keg or for a case!"_

"Of what, dare I ask?"

"Long as I can drink it or make it explode, does it really matter?"

The other pirates burst out laughing, and their voices were close enough now to be sounding in the hallway just beyond the door. Midna stepped backward into the shadows and closed her eyes, intending to melt away into the gloom before they reached the doorway and spotted her... and her back, still very, irrevocably solid, struck the cool stone of the far wall.

In a panic, Midna stared down at her hands, glowing milky white in the dim light and still completely visible. _Oh no... no, there's nothing wrong with me! On the beach, it was the crystal that was broken, not me!_

She took a quick breath and tried again, willing her body to become nothing but light and shadow, trying her hardest to execute the very feat she'd been performing effortlessly for years. The magic was like sand slipping through her hands. She was corporeal and visible, and there were the shadows of the pirates falling across the stone tiles just outside the open door...

"_And if a man should steal me heart..."_

Midna dived for the floor and scrambled under the table just as the gang of women burst in through the entryway, singing loudly, off-key, and only somewhat in unison: _"…Jalhalla steal me face! HA!"_

She crouched, curled tightly into a ball beneath the heavy wood of the table, as all around her there was the scraping of chairs being pulled aside and the shuffling of feet. _Alright, no need to panic_, the Twilight Princess rationalized. She was tired from staying up late the night before, and she'd been too hasty and overexcited to use her magic properly. She should have expected to have some difficulty after living in the Twilight Realm for so many months and being so out of practice. That was obviously the answer. Obviously.

Even as she insistently reassured herself, her heart was still pounding with adrenaline.

Midna took a few slow, calming breaths, confident that the pirates would be unable to hear any noise she made over the sound of their own talk and laughter. From this angle she could see little of their faces, but a few fleeting glimpses were enough to piece together most of their features. They were all tall and sleekly curvaceous, with dark, earthy skin ranging from bright copper to rich patina'd bronze. Their noses were dominant and beaklike; the defining feature of faces surrounded by silky, garnet hair.

For some reason, perhaps having to do with their complexions or facial structures, they reminded Midna almost instantly of Ganondorf.

There was a loud _thunk_ just above Midna's head as one of the women, the one with her hair in long braids, leapt up and landed heavily on the tabletop. Around the room, the various conversations died down. The pirate sauntered haughtily across the table, making the wooden boards creak and carelessly kicking stacks of parchment to the floor as she passed.

"_Jalhalla steal me face!"_ she sang out loudly, and then shouted again, "Jalhalla steal me face! Anyone here ever heard the story of Captain Aveil and The Boy Who Killed The Moon?"

A roar of laughter went around the room, and a few of the pirates began to beat their fists against the table in a heavy rhythm, chanting things like, "A thousand times! Tell it again!"

The pirate marching around on the tabletop kicked a glass mug and sent it sailing across the room to smash against the far wall. "Oh shut yer mouths; that one's boring. I'm telling the one about Captain Aveil, and how she broke the Lantern Man's lantern."

The laughter grew louder, and the storyteller had to shout good-naturedly to be heard. "I said shut yer mouths, didn't I? Alright. Alright! Gods and Giants, but you're a bunch of idiots." Even as she insulted them, there was a smile in her voice. "Captain Aveil and the Lantern Man!"

As they quieted down again, the pirate went on. "In the kingdom of Ikana where the dead walk free, there's a poe more powerful than any other poe... a king of poes, and they call him Jalhalla the Faceless..."

The woman spoke, and the story wove itself through the room, leaving absolute silence in its wake as each word hung golden in the air. Even Midna, concealed beneath the table, couldn't help but listen intently as the tale was spun and moving pictures were painted in the back of her mind.

Aveil the pirate queen wound her way through the piles of gold, rupees, and jeweled treasures from a long ago time when the pirate's fortress was overflowing with so much wealth that the water around the outer walls sparkled with it. Jalhalla the Lantern Man, in his flowing black cloak and childlike, colorful mask swept across the blighted lands of Ikana, and wherever he walked the air smelled of death and the dirt underfoot turned to ash. The massive gilded lantern in his right hand burned with blue fire.

The Pirate Queen and the Poe King danced through gold and ashes, but it was a deadly dance, a dance of swords, of blade on blade. Jalhalla's ethereal sword pierced Aveil's heart, and as her mouth opened in a wordless scream of rage, his left hand ever so gently cradled her face, waiting for the moment of death when he could take her soul mask and wear it as his own...

"They believed, back then," the storyteller shouted dramatically, "That when a person died, their soul would become a mask. Some people still believe that. But Aveil wasn't about to let the Lantern Man wear her face, and so in her dying throes she grabbed the lantern out of his hand and smashed it against her forehead, and she laughed as her face burned away and her soul went out in a blaze of blue and white fire!"

There was a thunder of applause all around the room, and several of the younger girls stood up and cheered aloud. The storyteller's feet hit the floor at the far end of the table, and Midna could see her giving exaggerated bows, a huge grin on her face, her long red braids swinging wildly as she bobbed up and down.

"Thank you, thank you! And now I'll tell the story of the-"

"Enough already!" someone shouted, to renewed laughter and more applause, and the braided pirate guffawed loudly, a sound so genuinely cheerful that it made the corners of Midna's mouth twitch upward in a small smile of her own.

"Fine, fine, you're all half-wits anyway. How about we let-" She paused, mid-word. "Wait..."

The laughter died down once again.

"What-" one of the pirates began, and the braided woman shushed her.

"Quiet." For once, they obeyed. The pirate paced slowly around the table, and Midna peered inquisitively through the legs of chairs and the voluminous cloth of the pirates' breeches as her feet passed by. "There's something not quite..."

Too late, Midna realized what was about to happen.

The braided pirate grasped the edge of the table and heaved, and the women on either side of the heavy piece of furniture scrambled away with irate squeals as it toppled over and hit the stone floor with a _crash_, leaving the Twili exposed in the middle of the room. "A trespasser! Get her, you slackers, or I'll tell the captain and she'll do worse to you than Jalhalla," the pirate shouted with a wide grin, and in the next moment the other women were drawing weapons in every conceivable variety of glinting blades.

The Twilight Princess quickly returned the smile. "Guess I'll be leaving now. Not that your stories aren't _fascinating_, but I think I prefer the Zora."

Midna's hair flared to life, and a pulse of electric orange Twili magic arced through the air and struck the nearest pirate's sword, making it explode spontaneously into shards of shrapnel. Not bothering to observe the results of her little magic show, Midna leapt to her feet and was sprinting through the hallways before the pirates had time to so much as blink.

Ha! At least _that_ particular trick still worked perfectly. And to Midna's delight, a moment later her body was melting into shadow and she was once again a flickering phantom, dashing across the walls of the fortress and dancing with the light. Somewhere far behind her the pirates were shouting, but they could never hope to catch up.

Besides, even with the map she'd come to fetch safely tucked away in the gap between dimensions, Midna decided that she had one more errand to run before she left the fortress. Eyes glinting with malicious pleasure, the Twili set off to find the room where the pirates kept their treasure horde locked away.

**-o{}o-**

Rough, packed sand scraped against Link's face as his head struck the sea floor, and a cloud of golden motes was stirred up and swirled through the water in front of his eyes. Kalau's clammy hands were pressed against the back of his head, grinding his face into the sand, waiting patiently for him to suffocate. The Ordonian struggled violently, stirring up more sediment.

"You fight well on land," the Kalau-creature commented off-handedly, effortlessly holding him down, "But under the water you are slow, and you cannot breathe. This Zora body can easily kill you here."

_No, I won't die here, _he thought, and wasn't entirely sure which part of him was thinking it. _There are too many reasons why I have to survive!_

Kalau was only pressing down on his head; his arms and legs were still free. Using this to his advantage, Link's flailing foot made contact with something solid, and Kalau gave off a hiss of pain. As soon as the Zora's grip slipped Link was off, swimming for the surface as quickly as he could and cursing himself for not having the foresight to bring the magic tunic that would have let him breathe underwater. As long as he had to keep coming up for air, the thing possessing Kalau had an advantage.

Before he had gone more than a few feet towards the distant shimmer above, the torpedo-like shape of Kalau was shooting towards him with a wide smile on its face, those triangular teeth glinting savagely. The Zora darted quickly and easily in a few showy circles around Link before coming up behind him and wrapping its arms around his neck to pull him down again.

For the second time that day Link hit the sea floor, but this time he was ready. Hands raking the loose sand, he clawed free of Kalau's grasp and half swam, half crawled across the seabottom. He was entering that calm state he had experienced in so many battles before, where fear melted away and there was only what should be done. It was something like being the wolf - cause and effect raced across his mind.

_Can't get to the surface; too far away, he'll just drag me down again._

_Can't swim away and lose him in the murk; he's too fast._

_Can't fight him; I'm too slow and I don't have any weapons._

_I need a weapon._

There was the rushing sound of Kalau's pursuit, a jet racing though the water, and as the Zora groped at the heel of his boot Link's eyes caught on a dark shape looming out of the water up ahead. He twisted around and the boot came off in the Kalau-creature's hands, giving Link a chance to dart ahead, towards the sunken bulk.

It was a ship. As Link passed it and doubled back to hide behind its concealing frame, he could see the strange, twisting formations of colorful coral and green-black algae clinging to the rotting wood of its overturned hull. He let himself drift into the dark shadows beneath its bow, disturbing a few tiny, colorful fish.

_I need a weapon._

Calmly, methodically, Link's hands scrabbled against the weak, decomposing wood and pulled away a plank of it, sending billows of brown and black debris into the surrounding water. His chest had started to ache and he could feel every beat of his heart pounding heavy and fast against his ribs. _Don't think about that._ The hero crouched down and raised the decaying board over his head...

...And as Kalau shot around the corner, brought it down hard on the Zora's back.

In agonizing slow-motion, the plank shattered into fragments in Link's hands. In the next moment, Kalau was ramming into him and the Zora's carnassal teeth were closing vice-like on his shoulder. Pain shot down Link's right arm and he tore away (and by the sound of ripping cloth, something else tore as well), leaving Kalau with a large shred of green fabric in his cruelly grinning mouth.

A dark nebula of blood began to cloud the water.

Kalau's smile slipped, and something wild crept into the Zora's eyes, something alien even to the possessing creature. Link recognized that look. It was instinct, the feral light his own eyes held when the wolf was fighting for control. Some suppressed, animalistic part of Kalau had tasted his blood in the water, and it wanted to rip him apart.

Link flailed his arms and dived to the side, slowed significantly by the viscosity of the water, just as Kalau's teeth snapped together at the point where the hero's throat had been a moment before. Feeling as though he might as well be fleeing in slow motion, the Ordonian swam up and over the deck of the ship, leaving a trail of blood behind him, his eyes darting around frantically for something else he could use as a weapon, something not so easily broken. A thick growth of sea-life covered every surface.

His heartbeat was like a steady, too-loud throb in his ears. His lungs burned, and his body was pleading desperately for air; flecks of black were flickering across his vision and there were shadows passing overhead, strange creatures circling the wreckage and stirring the billows of blood...

He was sinking to the deck, his hands were madly scraping away at the layers upon layers of coral, seeking out something his eyes had seen and his brain had yet to register. He was holding a long metal rod coated in rust, one end of it culminating in a point, wicked and barbed.

_Harpoon,_ said his oxygen-deprived mind, recalling something Moramoa had told him. Harpoon. It's sharp. It's deadly. You throw it at things and it kills them and they _do not eat you._

Kalau was swimming towards him with that triangular fin slicing like a blade through the water, and Link, without thinking, raised the harpoon, aimed it at the charging Zora, and stabbed.

The feeling of it traveled up his arm, the sluggish resistance as the harpoon's barbed apex sliced through skin and muscle, and then, with a sickening cracking, bone.

Kalau gave a small, painful gasp, and blood spread in ribbons from his open mouth and trailed gracefully through the water.

Slowly, Link's triforce hand left the shaft of the harpoon, still buried deeply in the Zora's chest. It seemed for a moment as though something translucent and spectral rose from Kalau's body and dissipated, and then the blue-green glow in Kalau's eyes flickered out completely and he collapsed slowly forward against Link. The hero stood disbelievingly on the deck of the ship far below the waves, supporting Kalau's limp body as the Zora hemorrhaged blood and the water around them seethed with an ever-widening cloud of brilliant red.

He'd killed Kalau. Oh goddesses, he'd killed Kalau.

The battle-calm evaporated, and Link found himself looking frantically around. Dark shadows were sweeping across the deck, the shapes of sharp-toothed, triangular-finned creatures he'd only vaguely acknowledged before, crossing the shafts of light that filtered through the water far above. They were circling slowly, savoring the sharp, metallic taste of gore, and Link realized that he recognized them. He'd seen one before, sprawled across one of the huge banquet tables in Zora Hall. They were called Gyorgs, and they flocked hungrily to blood in the water.

Kalau's eyelids fluttered and he made a low moaning sound, slumped against Link's left shoulder.

_Still alive. Oh Wind of Farore, he's still alive!_ Hopelessly, Link tried to swim upward, to drag Kalau's body with him to the surface, but the Zora's slight weight was enough to weigh him down. He needed to breathe, needed it desperately, but if he left Kalau behind the Gyorgs would tear the dying Zora apart.

His vision was throbbing in and out of total blackness. He could no longer hear his heartbeat, only a steady roaring in his ears. His lungs were going to explode, his chest was going to burst open in an explosion of froth and viscera, he was going to _die,_ he needed air _now_, he needed to breathe he needed to breathe he _needed to breathe..._

"What are you doing, you idiot, you're going to _drown!_"

Link distantly registered Kalau's weight being pulled away from him, and a face faded in and out of his field of vision. Moramoa's face, he realized, with a spectacular bruise blossoming under one eye.

"Give him to me! _Give him to me!_" Moramoa grasped Kalau around the abdomen, careful of the harpoon still jutting from the injured Zora's chest, and shot upward like a crossbow bolt. Bubbles and blood stirred the water behind them.

_Need to breathe, _Link's dying brain instructed him, and he struck out for the surface after the two Zora. The Gyorgs swam in wide rings around him as he rose, and the currents swirled the blood from his shoulder and pulled him from side to side, but he kept his eyes steadily fixed on the light dancing in oscillating patterns above him.

With a splash, the light surrounded him and there was cold, glorious air against his face. Link took several huge gasps, filling his lungs with the salty sea breeze. It felt as though he'd never truly breathed before.

Moramoa was already halfway to shore and moving fast. "Move," the androgynous Zora screamed back at him without slowing. "You're bleeding! They can smell it! _Move!_"

Link's brief moment of rapture evaporated as memory of the circling Gyorgs came flooding back. Immediately he began making quick strokes toward shore. His body screamed at him, still weak from lack of oxygen, and every movement sent a wave of pain through the shoulder Kalau had bitten, but he ignored that. Behind and on either side, grim shapes were rising to swim just below the surface of the waves. Triangular dorsal fins, still slick with water, glinted in the sunlight as they broke the surface, and Link could almost see the creatures' bloodthirsty eyes in the water beneath.

He was going as fast as he could, but the Gyorgs were faster. He was tired, he was bleeding, and they were all around him. He wasn't going to make it to shore but he wasn't allowed to fail...

Midna's voice sounded beside him. "You are utterly and completely hopeless. You know that, right, farmboy?"

Link's head whipped around to see her paddling casually beside him in the water, and a disbelieving smile broke across his face. "Midna!"

"You know, I look forward to your explanation of this one; I really do. Need some help?"

"Yes," he managed, his voice tired and hoarse, and with a roll of her eyes the Twilight Princess wound her invisible magic around him and propelled them both towards shore, leaving the pursuing Gyorgs far behind.

Link half-dragged himself onto the beach next to where his Ordon sword still stood point-down in the sand. As he lay exhausted, coughing up brine while a red stain spread across the sand nearest his wounded shoulder, Midna strode casually up the shore and pulled the blade out. It vanished in haze of Twilight particles, and a moment later he could feel the familiar weight of it in its scabbard on his back.

"Th... thanks..." he muttered, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees, and then, with sudden terror, "Oh no, Kalau!"

They found the two Zora further along the beach. Kalau lay sprawled on his back in the sand, his blood running down the dunes and pooling in the shallows of the water and the shaft of the harpoon rising like a ship's mast from his chest. Moramoa was bent over him, trying and failing to yank the foreign object out.

"Stop! That will just make him bleed even more," Link called out as he and Midna ran along the coastline toward them, and Moramoa turned on him with a scowl.

"Shut up! Just shut up, you _aggro hater!_ You killed him! He was my best mate and you _killed _him! Go away! Get off this beach or the next time I see you I'll _kill _you!" With a miserable wail, Moramoa turned back to Kalau's prone body. Moramoa's mouth closed over Kalau's neck and the Zora blew desperately, forcing water over Kalau's motionless gills. "Come on, breathe! You have to breathe!"

Again, a stream of water poured over Kalau's gill-slits, carrying with it traces of blood. "You have to breathe! You can't die like this! We never even finished that stupid song!"

Again.

"You have to breathe! You... have... t-to..." Moramoa's shoulders shook with suppressed sobs, and the Zora sat back and stared wretchedly out at the water. "You... you have t-to..."

The waves beat rhythmically against the sand.

Kalau winced, turned his head to the side, and coughed up a lot of blood. "Dude... that song... was lame anyway."

Moramoa made a sound halfway between laughing and weeping, and could say nothing more.

"Ha... Mori, you pansy."

Far across the water on the horizon, the sun began its slow descent into evening. Moramoa sat crying next to Kalau, and Kalau lay laughing weakly next to Moramoa, and the two of them seemed to be in a world all their own.

Midna gently touched Link's shoulder. "We should go."

"But-"

"We can't do anything," she stated, softly, and all traces of her usual wittiness were gone. "Look, Zora are tough, he'll pull through. But this is..." she glanced over at the two Zora. "This is something private. We don't belong here; not right now, not after this. We should go."

Link nodded slowly.

The Twili and the Hylian set out across the coastline in silence, not at all sure where they were headed but knowing completely what it was they were walking away from. Seething music, a concert hall, a mass of moving bodies, the chance to dance away dying goats and tarnished thrones...

**-o{}o-**

It was a long while before either of them spoke.

Using the map Midna had stolen from the pirates' fortress, they had found a road and followed it away from the beach, and now a short stretch of high, red-brown cliffs loomed above them on either side.

Walking with a slight limp thanks to his missing boot, Link rubbed at his shoulder where most of his sleeve had been ripped away and noted that a large, crescent-shaped scar had formed there. That wasn't right; his triforce's healing never left scars, no matter how grave the injury. Now that he thought of it, the healing had always been immediate as well, the skin knitting itself together before the first droplets of blood had a chance to hit the ground. The fact that this wound had taken so long to close worried him a bit, but he tried to push the thought out of his mind. The triforce was divine, a thing of the gods. It might have been a bit slow this time but it couldn't possibly fail.

Midna walked beside him, a slight frown on her face, and every so often he caught her looking down at her hands as if she didn't recognize them. She seemed worried about something as well, and Link recognized her expression. It was the same one she had worn back on the beach when they had first arrived in Termina and the Shadow Crystal's magic had failed. She'd said something about being broken. Maybe she was still worried about that.

He found himself wanting to reassure her, and so he reached over and took her hand. She gave him a small, somewhat sad smile.

"You'll have to tell me what happened back there," she murmured. "Because I can't imagine you just suddenly deciding to harpoon somebody."

"He was possessed," Link said, and he broke into a long explanation about the musical instrument and the invisible creature and the fight in the shipwreck surrounded by circling Gyorgs. It felt good to talk about it, as if by explaining it to her he was convincing himself that he hadn't done anything wrong.

When he finished, she began. She told him about the pirates and their fortress, about their table full of maps, about the woman with the braids who strode across the tabletop and told stories of a creature called Jalhalla. It seemed almost as if she was leaving something out, although Link wasn't sure what that could be. As she spoke her old smile returned, reveling in sharing the tales of her exploits.

"Jalhalla," Link repeated when her story finally began to wind down. "I've heard that name before. In an old legend, I think. Isn't he the King of the Poes?"

She grinned. "I think we've got the same legend in the Twilight Realm. Jalhalla's a powerful poe, and all the others are subservient to him, right?"

"That's how I've always heard it," he answered.

"Yeah. In the Twilight Realm it's kind of like a children's bedtime story. And people say things like 'mother of Jalhalla' and 'Jalhalla take my face' all the time. Termina must have some of the same legends."

Link made a noncommittal sound of agreement.

"Are you _still_ feeling guilty?" she asked with an exaggerated groan. "Hero, the Zora will probably be fine. Goddesses, this is going to be like Yeta all over again, isn't it?"

He shrugged, not quite willing to look her in the eye. It was hard to get over something like that. _She _hadn't held the harpoon.

They walked for a while longer, and the cliffs around them transitioned gradually to rocky terrain and finally forest. Midna checked the map on occasion, but there was really only one road to take, and no real chance that they would get lost. The sun sank lower in the sky.

It was a nagging doubt in the back of Link's mind that made him speak again. "Midna?"

"Mm-hm," she responded, still pouring over her hard-earned map.

"There's something I've been wondering. Moramoa... Was Moramoa male or female?"

Midna burst out laughing, and Link had to stop walking and wait for her while she stood shaking with delighted hysteria and wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "Oh... Oh you have _got_ to be kidding! You honestly couldn't... You couldn't _tell?_"

"No, I couldn't," Link grumbled, which unleashed a fresh flood of giggles.

"You... you couldn't... Hold on," she muttered, laughing too much to form a coherent sentence. "Alright. You couldn't tell? Really?"

"Really."

"Oh _wow_." Midna smiled broadly at him and continued walking. "Well that's made _my _day."

"But you know?" Link said, catching up with her. "You could tell?"

"Well of course. I'm not blind. Moramoa was..." She trailed off, a sudden mischievous glint in her red and yellow eyes. "Actually, I don't think I'll tell you.

"Midna!"

"Ooh, this is going to bother you forever now, isn't it," she taunted him happily.

"Midna."

She ignored him and went back to perusing the map. "Oh look, there's a ranch or something up ahead. We should stop and get some supplies."

"_Midna!_"


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The massive black plateau of rock that held the foundations of the Tower of Magic floated slowly and silently through the skies of the Twilight Realm, drifting in an ocean of subtle golden half-light and dark purple and black clouds, like angry bruises against the sky.

The Tower was one of the Twilight Realm's oldest feats of architecture, perhaps built around the same time as the palace itself. Despite its name, the monolithic structure was more of a fortress than a tower, rising upward and ringed with wide battlements and balconies, turrets and oddly twisted spires protruding from it at irregular intervals and huge Shadow Kargarocs roosting in the forgotten honeycombs of its highest windows. Its original purpose none could remember, but for centuries it had been used as a school of politics, science, and magic.

Not so very long ago, it was used as the last stronghold against Zant.

Zant's brother leaned against the thick gray crenellation of a balcony high above the dark plateau below and rested his head in his arms, weakened by the powerful shield feeding off his magic. It was completely invisible unless he touched it, in which case a wall of hair-thin threads of crimson spread outwards from his fingertips and wound around and in on themselves like a maze painted onto the air; angular spirals and twisting lines that almost, but not quite, formed readable runes. As long as someone was feeding it magic the shield would cover the entire Tower and allow nothing to pass through.

There were faint flickers of red light from below. Just outside the boundaries of the shield, twisted shapes prowled along the base of the Tower, occasionally striking out with their clawed hands at the unseen barrier and receiving nothing but sharp stings and fleeting flashes of red as the shield appeared and vanished again beneath their raking claws. From Rhent's vantage point they looked like tiny insects, but he had no desire to get a better look. The Healer had already seen far too much of them when they'd first attacked the Tower: hulking black creatures with flat gray shields for faces and long, claw-fingered arms on which they moved like quadrupeds. The farther he was from those things, the better.

"Hideous, aren't they?"

The voice came from the wide balcony behind Rhent, and he raised his head and turned slowly to see another Twili standing there. Tall and muscular, with short, red-violet hair, Xiphias was the school's weapons master and professor of physical education – a subject which in the Twilight Realm included learning to operate deadly siege weapons and strategizing for war. The powerfully built Twili joined Rhent in leaning against the parapet and glanced down at the monsters below with a small frown on his face. "How's the shield holding up?"

"They haven't broken through yet," Rhent answered.

"Well, hand it over then. You've been at this for too long; if you pass out on shield duty we'll have a battle on our hands."

Rhent refrained from mentioning that his magic was at least as strong as Xiphias's, if not as fine-tuned to attack and defense. While Xiphias was a good-natured person, the weapons master took far too much pleasure out of reminding everyone how powerful and disciplined his magic was. Instead, the Healer silently transferred control of the shield over to the other man, and breathed a sigh of relief as the exhausting drain left him.

Xiphias winced for a moment. "There's a weak spot forming on the north face. I'll get to work on fixing it." With a quick leap, surprisingly agile for someone of his build, he vaulted up onto the balustrade and sat with his legs dangling freely over the precarious drop.

"You're better with shields than I am," Rhent stated truthfully, looking down once more at the beasts below. "Has word come from any of the children's parents yet? I know the younger girls in particular have been asking about it."

The weapons master shook his head. "No signals, no messengers, nothing. I'm guessing most people are hiding out the way we are, but for all we know we could be the last ones left alive." His frown deepened. "I wouldn't say it in front of the students, but Dusk and Gloaming have been watching the monsters, and they've got a theory that's pretty disturbing."

"And...?"

"Well, Gloaming... and don't take this too seriously because you know all he ever thinks about is numbers... Gloaming says the monsters are us."

Rhent considered this. "If he means they're hallucinations, something in our heads, you can tell him he's incorrect. Mass hallucination would still have significant variation from person to person; the monsters wouldn't look the same to everyone."

"Far be it if I know what he means," Xiphias muttered. "This siege is going to drive us all mad anyway."

"I do have medications for that," Rhent offered.

"That was dark humor, Rhent. Jokes. Learn to identify them."

"I know you're joking. _I'm_ being serious. We're dangerously understaffed, trapped in the Tower and surrounded by monsters, and being slowly drained of our magic as we try to keep track of a school full of terrified children. It's entirely likely that one of the faculty will reach their breaking point soon."

"Mother of Jalhalla, Rhent," Xiphias said with a short bark of laughter. "You're just waiting for this, aren't you?"

"I've considered it, yes."

"Well my money's on Gloaming. Mad mathematician and his 'the monsters are us' theory. He'll have snapped before the week is out."

"I sincerely hope not."

The weapons master glanced over and caught the look on Rhent's face. "Oh, right... I shouldn't joke about this around you should I? Now that your brother..."

The Healer shrugged and cut him off. "I don't mind."

He made an effort not to look Xiphias in the eye, but Rhent knew Xiphias was studying his face. "You do though, don't you," the muscular Twili muttered. "You want everyone to think that you're always so emotionless about everything, but you must mind. I mean, your brother went insane and took over the Realm. Those are _his _monsters down there, attacking us right now. I'm sure that means something to you."

"It means nothing!" Rhent snapped, more angrily than he had intended. With a deep breath, he lowered his voice and repeated, "It means nothing. I barely knew my brother."

The two of them were silent for a while, and after a minute or two of watching the shield-faced creatures prowl below, Rhent turned to leave. "I'll send Dusk up to replace you in an hour or so."

"It's not your fault, you know," Xiphias said without looking around. "I had him in my class, the same as you did. He seemed normal. Brilliant and powerful and often very immature, but normal. No one could have known what he'd become."

"He was good at pretending to be normal," Rhent murmured.

"Had us all fooled, didn't he," the weapons master went on. "Popular as a politician, could have been king if Midna didn't have a stronger claim to the throne... And no one ever knew until it was too late."

It was a sudden guilty weight in his chest that betrayed him. Rhent hesitated just a moment too long, and Xiphias's head snapped around to look at him. "Rhent?"

With his back still turned to Xiphias, Rhent closed his eyes and let out a long hiss of breath. He could, and should, have walked away right then, and yet at the same time some part of his mind refused to stop sending him fleeting images of vicious creatures attacking the Tower while the teachers desperately fought them off and the children screamed in fear, of his brother Zant sitting stiffly on Midna's throne in the Palace of Twilight, of that same Zant, only fourteen years old, lying on couch in Rhent's private office and fighting desperately against the Delving that would betray his madness...

Xiphias's voice sounded again behind him. "Rhent, tell me you didn't _know_!"

**-o{}o-**

Healer Rhent awoke from yet another grim dream. It was a slow, calm awakening - the kind that came of knowing that as long as he was still asleep the world could do less to hurt him. Still swathed in the safe darkness behind his eyelids, the Twili allowed his mind to take stock of the situation. His bruises no longer ached and his body was warm again; he was covered by a thick down comforter and there was a pillow beneath his head. The subtle currents of magic ebbing lazily around him told him that the Summoning Stone was somewhere nearby, and in no danger. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

The room beyond was shrouded in gloom. Through vision mostly obscured by the numerous folds of silky beige bedclothes, Rhent could make out the dark shapes of furniture: here a chair upholstered in dark red fabric, there a mahogany bureau. There was a tall window set into the wall across from the bed. The curtains had been carefully closed, meticulously arranged so that not a glimmer of sunlight could spill through, and a dull, honey-colored light glowed through the fabric.

Rhent gazed at the faint illumination for a while. It was not the light of the Twilight Realm; even through the enshrouding drapery he could tell that it was too bright, too airy. There was something... not quite right about that light, but Rhent was too dazed at the moment to think of what it was. He needed time to think, to figure out where he was and why he wasn't dead.

The Healer sat up carefully, unsure of whether or not the motion would cause him pain or send him abruptly back into unconsciousness. His body obeyed without protest. He'd been clothed in a plain white dressing gown while he'd been asleep. Leaning his back against the tall wooden headboard, Rhent raised his arms and examined them. Someone had wrapped his hands and arms up to the elbows in bandages, and when he flexed his fingers he could feel scabs pulling at the skin where those spiraling cuts had been before. They were healing well, he noted, and he felt a bit of professional respect for the Healer who had treated him. He could only guess that some sort of salve had been applied to his bruised skin as well.

A look of confusion flickered across Rhent's face, followed quickly by relief. He was no longer in the Palace of Twilight, and someone wanted him alive.

The Summoning Stone rested unobtrusively on the small table by Rhent's bedside, looking deceptively small and innocent and barely glowing, but he knew better than to pick it up. Even through the bandages it would no doubt burn. Rhent was a bit surprised the stone hadn't been taken from him, as it was obviously an object of considerable magical power.

Then again, he realized, looking down once more at his bandaged hands, who would want it?

He decided, after a moment, to leave it where it was.

There were heavy wooden doors against two of the walls. With a rustle of shifting cloth, Rhent swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. The floor was covered in deep carpeting, soft against his feet, and he trod carefully across the room and tried each of the bird-shaped, gold-plated handles. The first, on the wall opposite the window, was securely locked. Even in luxury, he was still a prisoner.

With calm, resigned acceptance, Rhent let his hand fall away from the first door and tried the second. It opened into a small room with a floor covered in ivory-colored square tiles: a washroom. Since he wasn't going to be leaving any time soon, Rhent took the opportunity to look around.

His new captors had gone out of their way to make him comfortable. An elegant porcelain basin set into the wall sported golden taps marked for both hot and cold water, and the wide mirror above it swung open to reveal a shelf containing a variety of lotions and soaps in dozens of different scents. The large, claw-footed porcelain tub along one wall had already been filled almost to overflowing with steaming hot water. He unwound the bandages from one hand and dipped his fingers carefully into the water, noting that it, like the light from the window, was somehow different than it should have been, as if his sense of touch couldn't decide whether or not it really existed. As if he could will it not to exist, and it _wouldn't_.

_I've just gone through a lot of physical trauma, _he reasoned with himself. _Especially to my hands and arms. Something's off with my haptic senses, that's all._

As he looked at the steam rising welcomingly off the water, the Healer couldn't help but recall the filth of the Palace of Twilight's dungeons. A bath would be welcome.

**-o{}o-**

With nothing more than a fluffy white towel wrapped around his waist, Rhent emerged from the washroom feeling much better now that he was no longer covered in the grit of the dungeons. Some part of him still felt tainted; perhaps because of the way he had immobilized Nocturine or broken the guard's arm with his knowledge of healing, but it was an emotional taint instead of a physical one, and until he found the time to face it, it was something he could live with.

Someone had been in the room while he was gone. The door was still securely locked, but the bed had been made and there was a pile of crisp, freshly folded clothes sitting atop the bureau. Upon examination they proved to be like nothing he had ever worn before, all in light colors of beige and white, and the cut of them was bizarre in comparison to Twili robes. Rhent put them on with some difficulty, determining through trial and error which of the strange holes and tubes of cloth were for which of his limbs. The lower garment in particular was irritating beyond belief: it conformed to his legs and rubbed against his skin with every movement, but as his old, grimy robes had probably been burned by that point, he had nothing else to wear.

It was as he was finishing with getting dressed that there was a hesitant knock on the locked door. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Rhent looked up with mild suspicion. If he was a prisoner, why would his captors bother to knock before coming in? It wasn't as if he could stop them.

"'Scuse me, mi'lord," a woman's voice sounded from just outside the door, and Rhent listened without responding. "But I let some clothes on the dresser for you. I was wondering if you were decent, so I might come in?"

Still he said nothing, waiting to see what she would do.

"I ain't coming in if you ain't decent, mind you," she continued after a moment. "I know you're a Twiligh'er and you've got different ways, but I am a proper woman and I do have standards!"

The woman's accent was foreign, but she reminded him of the type of busybody old women who worked as servants at the Palace of Twilight; women who thrived off of gossip and took pride in the fact that their families had worked at the palace for generations. These people didn't seem to want to hurt him, and she sounded harmless, and so against his better judgment he answered her.

"I'm dressed."

"Oh good!" The door latch clicked, and in the brief flash of blinding light before the door swung shut again, the strangest woman Rhent had ever laid eyes on bustled happily into the room, carrying a cloth-covered tray. She was short and squat, her skin flushed and peach-colored and peppered all over with brown freckles and her hair mousy brown and tied back in a bun. She smiled up at him with gray eyes and offered him her tray. "You've been asleep for most of the day and I thought you might be hungry, so I brought you up a few things from the kitchens."

The Healer would have continued to stare at this strange creature if not for the smell of food wafting from the tray in her hands, which made his empty stomach churn with a hunger bordering dangerously on nausea. He took it from her gratefully and pulled the cloth aside without another word, unable to remember the last time he had eaten. The food (some sort of bread, a bright yellow, oddly-shaped fruit, and a cut of what might have been meat) tasted so strong that it made his eyes water, but Rhent was so hungry that he hardly cared.

The woman sat next to him on the bed, leaving plenty of space between them as a "proper" woman should. "I won't have you nicking the silverware," she stated sharply when he shot her a questioning glance. "That's good silver. I've got me eye on your hands. I'm not saying you look like the thieving type," the woman amended, "But the last Twiligh'er we had here, he was exactly the sort you'd expect to nick the silver."

Rhent, with his mouth full, was content to let her continue talking.

"I don't suppose I'm really allowed to talk to you, seeing as how no one really knows if you're dangerous'r not," she commented, "But you don't seem like a bad man, mi'lord, even if you do look a bit... well, none of us c'n help how we're made, as me mum always said. I suppose I've got too much curiosity in me for me own good. Oh, and how rude of me not to introduce me'self! Me name's Eulie Spicket, mi'lord. I work here at the castle. Chambermaid, officially, but really there's nothing c'n get by without me help these days."

He swallowed. "Rhent. I'm a... I used to work as a Healer." He supposed he didn't anymore, and perhaps never would again.

"A healer? That's a bit like a doctor, then, but with magic?"

The word "doctor" not being a widely used one in the Twilight Realm, Rhent wasn't entirely sure how to answer. "I suppose so."

"All a bunch of quacks, doctors," Eulie babbled happily. "I never put any stock in 'em, me'self. A spoonful of chu jelly and a lot of fresh air'r good enough to cure just about anything. And now with the Fever the doctors'r no use at all, so look who had the right idea! Are you finished with that?"

Rhent handed back the tray and watched, a little nonplussed, as Eulie carefully counted the silverware. "Mrs. Spicket-"

"It's Miss, mi'lord. I was a bit of a free spirit in me day, but I never did find a man I felt like settling down with."

"Miss Spicket. What is this place?"

"Oh bless me, you mean you don't know? You're in Hyrule Castle."

"In the Light Realm." Rhent supposed he should have been more surprised by this revelation, but part of him had already suspected as much. It was a tidy explanation. It made sense. If the Summoning Stone could transport Midna between worlds, then surely it would work on him as well.

"Goodness, and here's me forgetting again," said Eulie, hopping up from the bed with the tray in her hands. "Princess Zelda wanted to talk to you as soon as you woke up! I'll go tell one of the castle guards to show you to her study."

The thought of being at the mercy of yet another armed guard, even in a place where no one knew of his supposed "crimes" and he was treated more like a guest than a prisoner, was a bit more than Rhent could stand. "I'd rather you showed me yourself," he said, and Eulie's face flushed.

"Mi'lord, I should think it highly inappropriate if you tried to woo me."

"Tried to...?" Oh goddesses, he hadn't meant it like _that_.

But the portly chambermaid was beaming to herself and surreptitiously fixing her tight hair bun. "Anyhow, I couldn't possibly. I've got to take the tray back."

"In that case-"

"Oh, you're perfectly right, I'm sure the tray c'n wait. There'r priorities to be had." Before Rhent had a chance to react, Eulie had abandoned her tray and intertwined her arm with his, and was practically dragging him to the door, chatting blithely. The difference in their heights was such that she barely reached his shoulder. "In fact, I'm sure you'll be wanting a tour. I know where everything is, you know, so before you meet her highness I'll have to show you around. You'll love the gardens, they're absolutely lovely this time of year, and the throne room, and..."

"Wait," Rhent instructed Eulie. He disentangled himself from her arm and walked back over to the nightstand by the bed, where the Summoning Stone still sat, glowing softly. He had been charged to protect it, so he would have to take it with him. After a moment's thought, Rhent picked up the towel he had left folded on the edge of the bureau and very carefully wrapped it around the Stone in a sort of makeshift sling. With the ends of the towel in hand, he returned to the chambermaid's side.

With vigor, Eulie pulled open the door she had first entered through.

The room was flooded with brilliant light, so bright that it hurt Rhent's eyes and sent burning pains shooting through his exposed skin. Instinctively, the Healer stepped forward into Eulie's shadow, and his magic wrapped around it and quickly severed it from the soles of her feet. The chambermaid hadn't felt a thing, but she gave a gasp of frightened surprise as her own shadow crept rapidly up Rhent's body, covering his skin, his clothes, his hair, until only his eyes were visible glowing dully yellow in a face of translucent gray-black haze.

It was a trick most Twili discovered as children, a way to cover their bodies in shadows and become unrecognizable and nearly invisible. Some of the more powerful ones, such as Midna, could go as far as to melt into the darkness completely and become little more than living silhouettes, although Rhent himself had never mastered it. Most children lost interest in the becoming-shadow trick as they grew older, since it was impressive looking but had no practical applications.

At least, he'd _thought_ it had no practical applications, but as soon as the Light-Dweller's shadow had surrounded him, the sensation of burning vanished completely, to be replaced by a sensation not unlike being coated in a thin sheen of cool water. Was this how Midna had survived the Light World for so long?

"You... mi'lord!" Eulie gaped like a fish. "I c'n see right through you!"

"It's a kind of Twili magic," he explained, while Eulie repeatedly poked him the chest to determine his solidity.

"Magic, is it? Bless me, there's the bed, and the window, right on the other side of your chest!"

Rhent nodded. "It seems I may need to borrow your shadow for a while in order to survive in the Light World. If you don't object to that, I'll try to get it back to you at the next available opportunity."

The chambermaid's head bobbed down and she gave a little squeal at seeing no shadow extend from her feet. "Goodness but you're giving me a fright! No, go on and keep it; the girls down in the kitchens will have a right start when I show 'em this. I'll say I took it off, washed it, and hung it out to dry, and just see the looks on their faces!" She laughed cordially. "To the tour, then?"

"I think perhaps I should talk to the princess first."

"Whatever you say, mi'lord," Eulie murmured, winding her arm around his again and leading him outside.

Out in the hall, there were guards armed with swords posted on either side of the doorway. They watched the Healer and the chambermaid leave with eyes shrouded by their visors, and Rhent moved ever so slightly closer to Eulie as if the woman was some kind of shield. He needn't have worried; they did nothing to stop him from leaving. It occurred to Rhent that the Light-Dwellers were probably extremely frightened and suspicious of Twili after what Zant had done to their world. It was no wonder that they stationed guards at his door and worried over whether or not he could be trusted.

The two of them moved on, and soon they rounded a corner and the guards were lost from sight, allowing Rhent an opportunity to relax and look around.

Walled with polished granite and regal white marble and interspersed with tall windows that reached almost to the arched ceilings, the halls of Hyrule Castle were bright and pristine, nothing like the claustrophobic gloom that dominated the Palace of Twilight. Forced to walk slowly so that stout little Eulie could keep up with his long strides, Rhent found himself gazing out of each window in wonder. The castle windows looked down on a large courtyard filled with brilliant green grass, and beyond the high surrounding walls the Healer could just make out the tiled roofs of a large town beneath a sky the color of azure. (Blue: what a bizarre color for a sky!)

"I'll give you the tour some other time then?" Eulie asked eagerly. "Now that you're using me shadow and all, I feel I should check up on it from time to time. Make sure you're treating it right."

Rhent, who had been gazing out of yet another window, turned back to face her. "I don't know how long I'll be staying here." But now that he'd seen some small part of the Light World, Rhent supposed he would enjoy a tour. This place the Twilight Princess constantly obsessed over was by no means his home, but he found it fascinating in its exoticness. To see more, and have it explained to him by someone who had lived here all her life, would be an education.

"Oh, I'm sure her highness will let you stay as long as you please. Said something about Lanayru – that's one of our Light Spirits, so I guess you wouldn't know about that – sending you here for a reason. But if you do stay, you'll let me show you the ins and outs of the place?"

"I will."

"You won't forget, now?" she chided. "People'r always forgetting things if I don't remind 'em."

"I have a good memory, Miss Spicket."

"Oh goodness, mi'lord," the chambermaid mumbled sweetly, her face going even redder as she leaned into his arm. "You c'n call me Eulie."

**-o{}o-**

In the late afternoon, the princess's small study was filled with sound. All day people had been rushing in and out, delivering messages to Zelda and the group of advisers and generals she was holding conference with, and taking back with them hastily written documents to share with the smaller committees that were constantly forming in other rooms of the palace. Sitting at her desk in the crowded room, Zelda's right hand trembled slightly as her hawk feather quill skritched against yet another sheet of paper, making notes as she spoke.

"General, I've read your report on the incident in Castle Town. Could you elaborate?"

One of the men standing in front of Zelda's desk, tall and richly armored, spoke up, having to raise his voice significantly to be heard over the rest of the group's chatter. "Incident, did I say? It's more like a never-ending chain of incidents by now. The rumors of Zant's return are getting out of hand. People were already in a panic over the Fever, now they're barricading their doors in droves and throwing things out their upper windows at anyone who passes by."

"We've gotten word," another soldier added, setting yet another bundle of reports on the edge of Zelda's writing desk, "That a couple of vigilantes are stirring up a resistance force, planning to storm the castle and... well, rescue you."

"Princess Zelda," one of the many political advisors suggested, "I recommend that you make a public appearance in order to assure the people of your safety. Give a speech in the central square..."

"In this state of panic?" the General shot back. "They'd never listen to reason! In the confusion they'd tear her apart, and half of them are carrying the Fever!"

"I am not concerned with catching the Fever," Zelda stated, methodically writing down the suggestions as they were presented, and making shorthand notes about the pros and cons of each. Of course catching the Fever didn't concern her; she already had it. "How many guards would be needed for a sufficient armed escort, and do we have the resources for it?"

"We've lost half our soldiers to the Fever," the General answered. "And we need to protect the castle at all costs if a mob is planning to break in. If we spare the guards for an escort, we leave it vulnerable. It doesn't matter if it's only a group of well-meaning citizens; they're confused and panicked, and people will be hurt."

"If we send anyone else to make the announcement they'd never believe it," Zelda mused. Her quivering hand glowed slightly as the triforce helped her think, and she made an effort to still it, knowing it was drawing attention. "It would look as though we were covering up the truth in order to avoid panic. Even if I myself gave a speech they might see it that way."

"How do we know we're not in danger?" the advisor asked. "For all we know, our mysterious Twili guest could be a spy or a supporter of Zant."

"Lanayru trusts him," she replied shortly. "If the Spirit sent him here then I doubt he is an enemy. For now we should focus on the problems we know to exist. How far has the rumor spread?"

"Tremoring Fever has effectively shut down Hyrule's trade routes," another advisor responded, handing her (of course) yet another pile of papers that she had neither the time nor the energy to read. "As you can see here, travel from town to town has greatly diminished in the last month or so. I doubt any information has spread past the walls of Castle Town, and if it has, it will no doubt be discredited as just another rumor."

Zelda had never expected to be glad of Tremoring Fever, but for the moment it seemed to be doing her a favor. A town full of violent and terrified people was easier to deal with than a kingdom full of them. "Then if we can find a way to discredit the rumor, the problem will resolve itself. Would it be possible to circulate a more outlandish version of the rumor? Something less likely to be believed?"

"So you're just going to lie to them."

It was Ashei who had spoken. The female knight was sitting boyishly on a windowsill near the back of the room, having imposed herself onto the private meeting by striding confidently in with everyone else and glaring at anyone who looked like they were about to question what she was doing there. Sunlight from the window glinted off her armor and left a sheen through her black hair, and her eyes had dark circles underneath them; she hadn't been to bed since the Twili's appearance the night before. A few of the surrounding people gave her disapproving looks.

"You aren't authorized to sit in on this meeting," the general told her with a frown, and Ashei shrugged.

"I'm a war hero. I've got a medal that says I'm authorized to do pretty much whatever I want, yeah?"

The general's eyes narrowed, and his normally pleasant face grew red. "You will not speak to a superior officer with such-"

"Let her speak," Zelda said calmly, and the general deflated. "Ashei, you have a better solution?"

"Better than lying to your entire kingdom? No, your highness, I don't think I can top that. But I'm just thinking that telling them the truth would be a good start."

Zelda nodded and wrote "tell them the truth" next to the other propositions. To the room at large she said, "Ashei had a point which most of us seem to have unfortunately forgotten. Our ultimate goal should be to alert Castle Town of what really happened last night. In that vein, we should first diffuse the rumors in order to calm the people, and then enact this plan." She tapped the paper with her quill and circled the words "public announcement."

The general protested. "Your majesty, we simply do not have the manpower!"

"If we send servants and soldiers out in small groups to converse with the people," she said, thinking quickly and making her triforce glow even brighter, "And instructed them to bring up the rumor in conversation, they could laugh it off or pretend they'd never heard about it. Wearing their uniforms and livery it would be obvious that they'd come from the palace and it would add to their credibility. In this way we could discredit the gossip in only a few days."

The surrounding group gave a general murmur of agreement.

"When there is no more danger of panic or retaliation, I will make a speech in the main square and explain the situation. With the people calm, both the castle and I would require fewer guards. Are we in agreement?"

A vote was taken, and the plan was decided upon almost unanimously. The general and several of the advisors left to discuss who would be sent out into Castle Town and what methods they would use to converse about the rumor, while Zelda went back to shuffling through papers and reports and listening to the other soldiers and advisors argue about how best to defend the castle.

Ashei interrupted their conversation yet again. "What about the Twili?"

Zelda pushed aside the large stack of paper that had accumulated in front of her and met the knight's tired eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Princess, I know you were friendly with the ruler of the Twilight, but as for the rest of us down in Castle Town... We ain't exactly thrilled about their kind, yeah?"

Zelda understood. "You think I should keep his existence a secret?"

"I _think_ you should do what you want. Politics ain't my thing. But when you give that speech about him you'd better be a Din-forsaken amazing speaker, because if you _don't_ tell anyone and somebody down in Castle Town finds out, well then, you'd better be a Din-forsaken amazing escape artist."

"I'll consider that, Ashei."

There was a tap on the door, and the committee's heads turned as it creaked open slightly and the chambermaid named Eulie peeked her face inside. Zelda motioned for quiet.

"Pardon me, mi'lady," Eulie said quickly, "But the Twiligh'er's woken up, and he's ready to talk with you."

The princess nodded. "This meeting is adjourned, and will resume later this evening. For now, I need to have a private talk with our new guest." Eulie stepped aside to let the mass of people, some protesting, for they had wanted to meet the Twili in person, filter out through the old oaken door. "Send him in, Eulie."

"Miss, he's already here."

It was only then that Zelda noticed the being standing next to Eulie in the doorway, cloaked in shadows so that her gaze passed right through him, rendering him translucent and near invisible in the dim afternoon light. Of course, the Twili would have had to cover himself in darkness in order to travel through the bright hallways. Midna had been able to withstand bright light for so long now that Zelda often forgot how other Twili could not.

"Eulie," she murmured softly, "Please make our visitor more comfortable by closing the curtains, and leave us."

The chambermaid did so, and gave a little bobbing curtsy to both the princess and the Twili before scurrying out of the room. In the ensuing gloom the Twili let his guise of shadows fall away, revealing a face that was Zant's aged twenty years. "Princess Zelda," he said with a bow.

"You know my name, but I'm afraid I don't know yours," she told him, a slight question in her voice. "Or how you came to be here, other than that it involved Lanayru."

"My name is Rhent, a Healer by trade," the Twili answered. "And I come to your land..." He paused for a long time here, as if considering how much he should tell her. "...As a fugitive from my own. I am innocent of the crimes for which I have been sentenced to death, and I ask of you nothing more than sanctuary and political amnesty."

Zelda was a bit taken aback. She had expected any number of wild stories, but not this; for the man to flat out admit to her that he was a criminal. He could be lying about his innocence, but... The triforce was a gentle warmth against her hand. If he was going to lie, he never would have told her he was a fugitive.

"Of what crimes were you accused?"

She saw his eyes flicker slightly to the thing in his hand, a bundle of material hastily wrapped around what she could only assume to be the stone he had been found with. "The murder of Midna, the Twilight Princess."

Zelda gave a small sigh. Rhent was telling the truth. No doubt it had caused a panic when Lanayru teleported Midna away from the Twilight Realm, but Zelda knew thanks to the Spirit of Wisdom that Midna was alive. "I see. Your people were in a panic over her disappearance, and needed someone to blame."

His face was stoic, but something in his eyes told her that he was relieved to see she understood. "Yes. I was very close to Midna and the circumstances were incriminating, but your Light Spirit assures me she is alive. Until her return, I have no way to prove my innocence."

She answered him with a small smile. "Healer Rhent, I will grant you your amnesty."

"Thank you."

"It would be best if you stayed in the castle, although I will not stop you from leaving. Because of the war, the people of Hyrule do not particularly care for beings of the Twilight, and you bear a strong resemblance to a certain enemy of the kingdom."

"He was my brother."

He said it so emotionlessly, with no more fanfare then when he had told her his name, that for a moment Zelda didn't realize the horrible implications of his statement. She stared at him across the room, and the hawk feather quill fell from her hand.

"Your highness," Rhent murmured when she didn't respond, "I know what you must be thinking and how much hate and resentment you must still bear towards Zant, but I am not my brother. Revoke your amnesty if you must and I will leave your castle in peace, but before you do, please consider the fact that I have been nothing but honest, and judge me by my actions instead of my blood." He sounded as if he'd gone over that speech a dozen times in his head.

Another tense minute passed.

Slowly, Zelda reached out and picked up her quill again, her hand shaking so badly she could barely hold it. _Lanayru trusts him, _she thought. The Snake Spirit was bound by the goddesses to protect her; it would not have sent Rhent here if he were dangerous. Indeed, she still suspected that he was here for a reason, to help her or Hyrule in some way.

Her hands refused to stop shaking, and so she dropped the quill again and placed them in her lap, hidden behind the wooden paneling of the writing desk. "I will not revoke my amnesty, Rhent. Lanayru has vouched for you, if indirectly, and if you meant me any harm you would have acted the moment I sent Eulie away. I will not condemn you for your brother's actions."

"Midna always said you were wise," he murmured.

The princess smiled slightly. Midna's respect was not an easy thing to gain. "You must already know that we've provided you with a room. Please feel free to treat the castle as your home. I'll ask Eulie to show you around."

For whatever reason, he looked slightly amused at that.

Zelda pushed her chair back and stood, and immediately wished she hadn't. Her hands weren't the only things shaking today; the princess's legs were almost too weak to support her weight, and they trembled so badly that she had to catch herself on the desk to keep from crashing to the floor. A moment later Rhent was at her side, sliding her other quaking arm across his shoulders to help support her.

"You have Tremoring Fever." It wasn't a question.

Zelda averted her eyes. "No, I'm just tired..."

"Your highness... Zelda. I've worked as a Healer for a long time, and I know the symptoms. You need medical attention."

"No," she said again. "No, I can't tell anyone about this. You know what happened to the Twilight Realm when Midna disappeared, well, the same thing would happen here if my people knew I was dying. They are already in a panic over the Fever and rumors of Zant's return caused by your arrival. This is not their burden to bear."

"Ah. Politics."

"Yes. I'm fine now," she added, drawing away from him and carefully testing her balance. "You see? The Fever affects everyone a little differently. My fits are gentle, and easy to hide."

"For how much longer?" he demanded, and she looked down at her feet.

"I don't know."

"Princess Zelda, I worked as Midna's personal physician, and in the sickhouses where those with the Fever were cared for. I know more about treating Tremoring Fever than anyone else in the Twilight Realm. Perhaps we can help each other."

He _was_ here for a reason, Zelda realized. Lanayru, bound by the goddesses to protect their chosen avatar, had sensed her sickening and sent her the only help it could find. Rhent was here to keep her alive.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

In the late afternoon a lonely breath of wind meandered through Ikana, where the gray, unmoving clouds cast the world below into a state of dull semi-darkness, a dusk without sunset. As it passed the massive columns of sepia-brown sandstone that were the kingdom's stone towers, the wind whistled forlornly through their tiny, dark windows, like the shadowy recesses of colossal termite mounds or great insect hives. It caught at Jalhalla's cloak as he sat cross-legged atop the tallest tower and stared out at the distant horizon.

"_Where is...?"_ The king of poes waved a hand vacantly towards the isolated spark of orange burning at the edge of Ikana Canyon, searching for his next word. The nameless Garo standing a few feet behind Jalhalla waited for him to continue, but he did not.

"_...Segwu, oh Faceless One?"_

"_Segwu,"_ he finished. _"Where is Segwu? Where is my face? I told him to bring me my face."_

"_He has yet to return," _the Garo answered carefully. _ "But it has only been a day. Give him more time to-"_

A ringing _smack _echoed through the stagnant air of Ikana, followed by a muffled _thump _as the Garo's half-corporeal back struck the ground. Jalhalla, now standing, drew his black-skinned, osteal hand back into the folds of his cloak, his expression unreadable behind his smiling mask. When he spoke his voice was flat and steady.

"_My face, Segwu. Tell me why you did not bring it."_

The Garo scrambled to his feet in confusion. _"I told you already; Segwu has not returned."_

"_Why did you fail me, Segwu? Why did you not do this one simple thing that I asked of you? You said you would bring me a face."_

"_I..." _Beneath his hood, the glowing, blue-green sparks that were the Garo's eyes flickered with comprehension. _"I am not Segwu. Segwu has not returned. You sent him away only a short time ago."_

"_You are not..." _Jalhalla's voice grew distant again. _"How long ago did I send him away?"_

"_It was only this morning that he left," _the Garo said slowly.

The Lantern Man stood in silence for a moment on the precipice of the tower, his mask turned toward where the sun was sinking behind a blanket of ashen clouds. _"That is too long. He has been gone too long. He said he would bring me their faces by nightfall."_

"_It is not yet nightfall."_

"_It has been too long." _One hand grasped at his mask in agitation. _"He has failed to kill them. I should send someone else."_

"_Faceless One...?"_

"_I could send _her._"_

"_Your pet?"_ A nervous hiss from the Garo. _"You are not thinking clearly. She is too massive, and too mindless. Even if she managed to find them, she would merely tear them apart, and their faces would be lost to you."_

"_I could send her. She would kill them. I could send her."_

"_Faceless One, your mind is faltering. Please think for a moment. What good would she do if you sent her?"_

"_I could send her," _Jalhalla murmured. _"I could send her." _He sank to one knee and placed a hand against the gritty brown rock of the tower, and the wind, so very rare in a land of such stale, stagnant air, died away as the king of poes leeched every feeble dreg of magic from it.

"_Jalhalla, please reconsider!" _the Garo stated warningly, but already the stone around Jalhalla's fingers was blackening with heat, and tiny _pings_ and _pops _rang out as it warped and buckled. The Lantern Man's stolen magic forced itself down into the heart of the tower in violent throes, making the great, honeycombed structure shudder.

"_Jalhalla!"_

From the ancient core of the tower there came a deep, abyssal moan, like the final guttural sound of a dying thunderstorm.

The Garo turned and fled.

**-o{}o-**

Just beyond the wooden gate of Romani Ranch there was a wide grassy field, surrounded by a natural fence of red-brown rock formations. Between the stolid shapes of grazing cattle, a light breeze caught at the dry grass – knee-high in some places, where the cows seldom fed – and waved it about gently like the ripples of Lake Hylia. In the early evening, halcyon light lay like golden dust across the roofs of a cluster of buildings grouped together in the distance: a barn, a shed, a farmhouse with freshly whitewashed walls. Two children chased each other back and forth in front of them, and their laughter carried faintly across the grass.

Link lagged slightly behind Midna as the two of them made their way down the dirt road leading toward the distant farmhouse, his eyes on the ground to avoid stepping on anything sharp.

"You know, if you'd remembered where you lost that boot I could have summoned it for you," Midna teased him. "It's your own fault if your feet hurt."

"I wasn't complaining."

"No, but you think I can't tell when you're in pain? You get that kicked puppy look; it's embarrassing." Glancing back at him, she rolled her eyes. "Oh, man up and walk like a normal person. Your triforce will heal all those lovely bruises for you, anyway."

"I'm keeping up."

"No you're not; I'm just walking slowly. You know, I don't even _wear_ shoes, and you don't see me making a fuss about it."

"You hover! Half the time your feet don't even touch the ground."

Midna raised one slim leg and wiggled her toes playfully, still gliding along at a walking pace a few centimeters above the dirt. "Well, would you look at that? I guess I'm just superior to you in every way, aren't I, light-dweller?"

"Midna," he scolded, as with a giggle she darted away. With a resigned shrug Link chased after her, registering somewhere in the back of his mind that the crafty little Twili had gotten him to pick up the pace after all. They raced each other up the road, sometimes darting in wide zigzags through the knee-deep golden grass on either side, making it whisper dryly against their legs as they passed, and the two children stopped and watched them run.

At last Link reached the wooden door of the ranch house and paused for a moment to catch his breath before knocking, the sound of Midna's distant laughter ringing in his ears.

"I knew I could get you to move a little faster!"

He shook his head, smiling faintly, and rapped on the door. From somewhere inside there came the sound of sloshing water and pottery clinking together, and a woman's voice called out, slightly muffled by the wood of the door. "Yes, yes, give me a minute, I hear you."

Link waited patiently, balancing in his remaining boot for a moment to see if his bruised foot had healed yet (it had), when someone gave a tug on the hem of his tunic, nearly pulling him over. He righted himself quickly and looked around. One of the ranch children was staring up at him curiously; a little boy of six or seven, with brown hair and skin the color of terra-cotta. "You're on base."

"Oh," said Link, not sure how to respond to that.

"The door's base. If you touch it the Keaton can't eat you."

"Lucky you, Link," Midna said with a small smirk, gliding up beside him and leaning an arm on his shoulder. The little boy gave her the wide-eyed stare of someone too young to know better, and she gave him her evilest, toothy grin.

"You look weird. Are you a witch?"

"Casey, stop bothering people!" The other child, a redheaded girl of perhaps nine summers, had run up to join them. There was a colorful paper mask affixed to her head with twine - bright yellow, and painted to look like some kind of mouse-like animal with tall, lapine ears - and she'd pushed it up over her forehead to bare her face. She grabbed the little one by the back of his shirt and pulled him away with the annoyed look of an older sister. "Sorry 'bout my brother, mister. He likes playing games for little kids."

"It's _your _favorite game, Pan."

"No it's not. That's dumb. You're dumb." The girl pushed her brother away rather more forcefully than seemed necessary and made a great show of straightening out her summer dress before giving a bobbing curtsey to Link and Midna, her mask flopping around atop her head. "Sorry, he's dumb. My name's Panna. That thing is my brother Caseus." She adopted the kind of respectful, well-rehearsed tone of a child used to houseguests. "Welcome to Romani Ranch."

"I'm Link," the Hero said with a smile, nodding back at her. "And this is-"

"Midna," said the Twilight Princess, and she reached over and slapped Link's hand away from the door. "And you, farmboy, are off base and must be eaten by the Keaton."

Link gave her a flat look, while Casey and Panna's faces lit up at the realization that here were two grown-ups who would play their game. Panna's air of maturity melted immediately, and she snapped the paper mask down over her face with gusto. "I'm the Keaton!"

Midna poked Link's shoulder playfully. "She's the Keaton, Link. What are you going to do about it?"

"You gotta answer riddles!" Casey piped up helpfully.

"Shut up, Casey! I'm the Keaton so I get to say it." Panna straightened up and said in her most official voice, "You gotta answer riddles. The Keaton asks you three riddles and if you get them right I give you my face and you get to be the Keaton, and if you get them wrong you gotta run away."

"I'll help," Casey whispered loudly. "She's real good at riddles but I know the answers to a bunch of 'em 'cause I made her tell me."

"Caseus!" Panna groaned.

"Go on then, ask," said Midna who was having far too much fun.

"Okay, um..." Panna rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet for a minute before deciding, "Oh, I got one! My seas have no water, my forests no wood, my deserts no sand and my houses no brick. What am I?"

Link stood in silence for a moment, honestly stumped. He'd always considered himself to be pretty good at puzzles, but only when they were physical things, with pieces he could touch and examine and rearrange. Word games weren't really his forte.

It was Midna who answered at last. With a sudden grin of realization, she waved her hands rather showily through the air and let a burst of twilight particles dance around them before resolving into the shape of the map she'd stolen from the pirates' fortress. "I think I know. Seas with no water..." She unfolded it and tapped the Great Bay. "...forests with no wood..." Her finger traveled upward, to the swampland not far from the ranch where they stood. "...deserts with no sand..." The distant wasteland, with its two tall towers. "...and houses with no brick." The large town in the middle. "The answer's a map."

The two children nodded enthusiastically, impressed by her little magic show. "Are you a witch?" Panna asked, echoing her brother.

"Is that the second riddle?" Midna responded teasingly.

"What? No! I still get two more!" The little girl folded her arms indignantly. "What's dark when it's light, gone when it's night, and follows you everywhere you go?"

Midna's grin widened, a competitive glint in her eyes. "A shadow. Come on, Keaton, ask us a hard one."

At the challenge, Panna announced in a solemn voice, as if this was the gravest, most difficult riddle she could think of, "All my life I eat, but when I drink I die. What am I?"

"You're-"

But the game was interrupted, as behind Link the door of the ranch house opened, and he turned to see a short, heavily-pregnant woman in a apron, her orange hair done up in a loose ponytail and her hands still wet and sudsy as she rubbed a washcloth between them in an attempt to dry them. "Sorry about that..." A nod to the room behind her, where a stack of plates and bowls rested beside a large metal washbasin full of suds. "Had to finish the dishes. My little ones aren't giving you grief, are they..." She trailed off, a sudden, shocked look crossing her face as she looked them both up and down. "Pan, Casey, go find your father."

"But Pan's the Keaton!" Casey protested. "We only have one more riddle!"

"Go find your father, and send him up to the house," the woman repeated sharply, and the children, sensing they might be in trouble, quickly darted away across the grass.

Midna called after them with a grin, "You're the Keaton! You told me earlier!"

"That's not the answer!" Panna shouted back.

"They weren't bothering us; we were just getting introduced," Link said, while the two children scurried off. "I'm Link, and this is Midna. We were traveling through and thought we'd stop for supplies."

"Yes, of course, why don't you come in?" the woman replied a little too quickly, her eyes flickering from Link and Midna to the distant shapes of her children. She stepped back carefully to allow them through the door. The interior of the farmhouse was made up of one large room, decorated with cheerful earth-toned rugs and shelves of colorful pottery. A fire burned brightly in the large stone hearth, and Link could make out the shape of a withered old woman asleep in a rocker by the fireplace. A clock hung on the far wall and filled the room with the lull of its quiet ticking.

"I'm Babeurre, and my husband Ostur is around here somewhere." Babeurre gave them an uneasy smile as she made her way over to the fireplace and started poking at the cracking logs within with the long iron fire-hook that had been sitting on the mantle above it. "I suppose you'll want a room for the night, and hot meal. And a new pair of boots," she added, eyeing Link's bare foot. "And from the smell of things you've been in the ocean, so you'll want a bath, and your clothes washed, in your case mended, I guess, and treated for the... the bloodstains..."

For the first time, Link looked down at himself and realized that his tunic was still stiff with dried-on salt and marred with blackened bloodstains - his own and Kalau's - and Midna's own hair and clothes were equally bedraggled. The two of them exchanged looks, both suddenly realizing the cause of Babeurre's apprehension.

"Oh!" Link said quickly, opening his mouth to explain without quite knowing what he was going to say, all too aware that the truth might very well have them sleeping on the ground that night. "It's not what it looks like." _You almost killed a Zora. It's exactly what it looks like. _"We're not-"

But with a sudden shriek, Babeurre spun around and swung the firehook wildly in Link's direction, it's wicked, hooked iron tip sweeping by inches away from his chest.

"What do you want!" the woman demanded, adopting as menacing a stance as her round-with-child stomach would allow. In her grip, the end of the firehook glowed orange-hot and hissed in the cool air. "Thieves, murderers, I won't have you robbing my ranch or hurting my children!"

Link's sword was in his hands before he realized he'd drawn it, so quick had his reflexes become. He stared down at it in shock for a moment, and beside him Midna gasped, "Put it _down_, Link!" As if she was worried he might actually _use _it. As if she thought he'd become paranoid and jumpy enough to attack a pregnant woman before his common sense kicked in and stopped him. He dropped the blade as if burned and held up his hands quickly in a gesture of placation.

"Wait, we're not thieves! We were attacked by something, that's why we look like this!"

"Then get out now!" Babeurre repeated, the makeshift weapon wavering from Link to Midna. "My family doesn't need this kind of trouble!"

"Aren't we popular today," Midna muttered cynically.

Link began backing slowly towards the door. "We should go. We'll find someplace else to sleep tonight."

"You forget your sword," Midna began, and bent to pick it up.

With a panicked shout, Babeurre brought the firehook down with a _snap_. _No, _the part of him that loved Midna shouted, and by the time Link realized that the Twili's own magic could protect her, he had already leapt forward and grabbed the molten-hot weapon in mid strike.

The room was dead silent for a moment, save for the quiet snoring of the old woman in her rocking chair and the ticking of the clock, and the smell of charred skin and burnt leather hung like a fug in the air. After a few disbelieving seconds, Link uncurled his fingers and stared down at his mangled hand.

"Oh. Ouch."

The firehook fell to the floorboards with a dull _thunk_, and Babeurre clapped her hands to her mouth in shock. "Gods and giants, your _hand_!"

Midna gave Link an exasperated look. "Really, Hero? Really? I can't turn my head for two seconds without you doing something stupidly... heroic!"

"She was about to hit you with a fire poker!" Link muttered through gritted teeth. His gauntlet was still smoldering; the glowing metal had burnt clear through the leather. Painfully he flexed his fingers, feeling his triforce flood with heat and watching the burnt skin heal itself.

"I do have magic, you know. I don't need you jumping in every time-"

"Gods and giants, gods and giants, your _hand_!"

"Oh, would you stop? His hand is fine. If you were going to be such a baby about it you shouldn't have used the thing as a weapon to begin with. Try the fire shovel next time; it doubles as a bludgeon."

"Midna!"

"I panicked!" the woman answered frantically. "Look at you, you're covered in blood! You look like criminals, and my children were right outside!"

"So you threatened us with a foot of white-hot metal?" Midna debated. "Because that's not at all hypocritical."

"He drew his sword on me!"

"Well to be fair, you drew your... fire poker thing on him first."

"Out of self-defense!"

"Excuse me, lady? _You_ attacked _us_."

"_Babeurre!"_ The door burst open and Babeurre's husband Ostur, a stout, coffee-skinned man, stood silhouetted in the dying light, panting as if he'd just sprinted the length of the ranch. His eyes flickered from Link and Midna, to Baberurre, to the sword and firehook cast haphazardly to the floor, and Casey and Panna peeked out from behind him, watching the scene unfold with wide eyes. "What's going on in here?"

"I _panicked_, Ostur!" Babeurre repeated hysterically, and the room dissolved into shouting.

"You... what? What happened?"

"I thought they were criminals, so I-"

"Criminals?" And then it was too late to simply slip away, because Ostur was standing with his feet apart and his fists raised, barring the doorway. "You're threatening my wife, trying to rob Romani Ranch?"

"We weren't!" Link quickly tried to explain, while beside him Midna rolled her eyes and slapped a hand to her forehead. "We were attacked by some creature earlier today and we just wanted somewhere to spend the night and maybe wash our clothes-"

"-and he just _grabbed _it out of the air-" Babeurre was still babbling, her words running together with Link's. "It was self-defense!"

"Babeurre, what happened? Are we being robbed or not?"

"We're not robbing you, we just-"

"Would everyone just-"

"STOP!"

The last word echoed suddenly through the little room, and the confused argument died out as they realized that none of them had said it: it was the voice of the old woman in the rocking chair.

She was watching them all from her place by the hearth with a faint, laughline-creased smirk, awoken and amused by all the shouting. Now that Link could study her face he noticed how much she resembled Babeurre, though her face was much older and her hair was wispy white instead of orange. "Oh, this _is _an adventure. All this fuss, and you'd leave poor Romani out of the fun?"

"Auntie," Babeurre began, and the old woman put a finger to her lips.

"Not now, dear. The floor's on fire."

All eyes, as one, traveled downward and rested on the still-hot firehook, around which tiny tongues of flame were beginning to flicker as it branded its smoldering, sooty outline into the hardwood floor.

They scrambled to scuff it out, while old Romani, still chuckling to herself, watched them with amusement. The efforts of six people at once trying to stamp out the same tiny fire did more harm then good, and total chaos reigned for a few seconds until Panna thought to overturn her mother's washbasin and spill a deluge of soapy water across the floor, sending clouds of steam hissing into the air.

The six of them stood, panting, and the clock ticked away into an awkward silence.

At last Midna gave a small laugh and muttered, "All my life I eat, but when I drink I die. What am I? Fire. Of course it's fire. I win."

"Aw..." Panna muttered.

The tension had drained out of the room somewhat. Ostur carefully raised the firehook by its cooler end and set it back on the mantle. Link retrieved his sword at last from the sudsy floor, wiped it off on the hem of his tunic, and sheathed it. Babeurre shifted her weight uncomfortably, eyeing the ruined floor. "Well, let me see it."

"See what-" Link began, but before he could finish the woman had reached out and carefully grasped his arm, pulling his hand towards her, palm up. The firehook had burned a narrow, banded hole straight through his gauntlet, and between the charred black edges (giving off a faint, burnt-leather odor that only he could smell) Link could see new pink skin, recently healed by his triforce.

"Not a mark on your skin," the ranch-woman murmured to herself, sounding slightly baffled. "The gauntlet must have..." She shook her head and pushed his hand away again. "You can't stay. They can't stay, Ostur. The boy is covered in blood and there's not a scratch on him so I know it isn't his; how can we trust anything they say?"

"Because," old Romani stated simply, "The boy's a friend of Romani's, and I've been expecting him."

Link opened his mouth to explain that they'd just stopped to rest and resupply, that she had them confused with someone else, when he met Romani's eyes and saw her give him a quick wink, as if they were old friends sharing some private joke. The words died away, unsaid.

"The family has shown you such a terrible welcome, Link. I'm ashamed," she continued, and he wondered, for the briefest of moments, how the old woman knew his name. But of course Midna or someone must have said it earlier, and she'd overheard.

"We-" Babeurre tried again, and was once again shushed by Romani.

"Oh quiet, you. Somebody breaks in, you don't threaten them with the firehook. You run upstairs and get the crossbow like a civilized person. Now be kind and invite the poor boy and his lady friend to dinner."

"Can they stay?" Casey implored, looking up at his parents.

Ostur and Babeurre exchanged an unreadable look over their childrens' heads. They were, he assumed, uneasy about letting a pair of bloody and bedraggled strangers into their home. But the old woman had vouched for them, and at last Ostur nodded and held out his hand. "We've all started out on the wrong foot, so let's start over. I'm Ostur."

After a moment's hesitation, Link shook Ostur's hand. "Link, and Midna."

"And you've already met the rest. Well then. Welcome to Romani Ranch. Babeurre?"

Ostur's wife sighed and nodded. "I'm... sorry about this, I guess. I don't normally attack people with fire-irons. But before you travel any further, you might want to wash those bloodstains out of your tunic. It gives the wrong impression."

"We're aware of that now," Midna muttered.

"Sorry for all... this," Link added, feeling an apology was in order for causing so much havoc.

"It was a misunderstanding, I can see that. If there's anything we can do for a couple of travelers like yourselves," the man added, "Let us know."

Midna elbowed Link gently in the ribs, and with the smallest twitch of a smile, he asked, "Could we buy a pair of boots?"

The smile was returned with Ostur's amiable grin. "Of course. We could probably manage to get those clothes washed for you, too. Why don't you stay for dinner?"

**-o{}o-**

In a few minutes it was as if it had all never happened. The faint, clockwork rhythm of the timepiece on the wall ticked on, and the savory smell of baking sweet-potatoes and pot-pie rose from the wood-burning oven in the corner, as Babeurre opened its doors and slid yet another dish into place. Casey and Panna were mopping up the soapy water that had been spilled across the floor, racing to see who could finish first and batting suds at each other when they thought their mother wasn't looking.

Link, Midna, and Ostur sat around the wooden table in the center of the room and perused Midna's map, spread out before them and weighted down with odds and ends of pottery. Midna was wearing a rather bulky and ill-fitting dress belonging to Babeurre, her hair hanging loose around her shoulders, and Link had on a secondhand pair of boots and one of Ostur's shirts, which was too baggy on him and not quite long enough in the sleeves, but despite the bad fit it was an unbelievable relief to be wearing something clean again. Their old clothes had been left in the washbasin to soak.

Over the map, the Hero and Twili did their best to explain who they were and where they were going. They talked about the Fever, seeking answers from Lanayru, the sandstorm and the Zora and rampant embellishment on Midna's behalf when they got to the part about the pirates, and at last the strange, green-eyed creature that had attacked Link and driven them away. Ostur listened gravely, and out of the corner of his eye Link could see that they had Romani and Babeurre's attention as well.

While Link was finishing the last of the tale, Panna lost interest in helping Casey clean and wandered over to hand Midna the paper mask they'd been playing with earlier and whisper something into her ear. With a grin the Twilight Princess waved to Link to keep going, pulled the mask over her face, and slipped off to play with the children.

"This plague... what was the name of it again?" Ostur asked, and Babeurre lowered herself carefully into Midna's vacated seat.

"Tremoring Fever," said Link.

Ostur exchanged a confused look with his wife. "That's an odd coincidence. Here in Termina we have a disease by the same name, but it isn't nearly as deadly."

"It's one of those childhood diseases that everyone gets at least once," Babeurre confirmed. "Casey was a right little terror when he was sick with it."

"I got to lie in bed all week and eat soup and ice cream, and Pan had to be nice to me or else!" Casey informed them proudly.

Link nodded. "The Zora at the Great Bay said the same thing. But people in Hyrule are dying of it. The goats..." He trailed off, remembering the smell of Yenka, the frantic noises she made as she thrashed around, her fever-hot hide against his arms. One hand idly traced the spot on his chest where his horse whistle should have hung. "It can't be the same disease."

"I'm sorry about what happened to your kingdom," Ostur said, catching his melancholy look. "Something like that, as if the world was ending... I can't even imagine."

"I can!" Romani said cheerfully from her rocker by the fire.

"We'd help you if we could," Babeurre assured him. "But the disease we call Tremoring Fever doesn't have a cure. No one dies of it, so I don't think anyone's ever bothered to find one."

Ostur's hand traced the edges of the swamp marked on the map. "This might help. I've heard rumors about a pair of witches living somewhere in the Southern Swamp, who use the plants there to make medicines. Maybe they know what you're looking for?"

"It's worth a try," Link said gratefully, remembering Midna's plan to seek out a magic-worker who might know what was wrong with the Shadow Crystal. "Thank you."

"Well, fold up the map then, and help me set the table," Babeurre said shortly. "Food's almost ready."

"Let me show Midna first, and I'll get it put away." The Hero stood up and wandered over to where Casey, Panna, and Midna were seated in a circle on the floor, playing their Keaton game.

"'What number am I thinking of' isn't a riddle," Panna was complaining. "You're a terrible Keaton; it should be my turn again."

"You didn't guess the number," Midna stated, from behind the Keaton mask.

"That's dumb. Do you even know any _real _riddles? Tell us a real one, the hardest one you know!"

Midna shrugged, and then rather sadistically asked, "What lives below the painted sun and moon and has a hundred faces?"

"Midna, that's not really fair," Link reprimanded, pulling her mask off, while Casey and Panna quietly mulled the question over. "Come on, Ostur told me about some witches who might be able to help us."

She joined him at the table and watched as he showed her the swamp Ostur had pointed out. It was marked on the map only by a wide sweep of stylized marshland, with no trails or roads passing through it, and no sign of where a pair of witches might be hiding. Anyone else would have given him a skeptical look and told him to try something else, but Midna was a believer in vague rumors and dubious legends. She simply nodded in agreement; any wild goal was better than none at all.

Panna's voice piped up behind them.

"A clock."

The two of them turned to face her, and Link heard himself say, "What?"

"What lives below the painted sun and moon and has a hundred faces. It's a clock." She pointed up at the clock on the wall, still ticking quietly away. "A clock has a face, but it's changing all the time because the hands keep going round and round, so I guess you can say it has a bunch of faces. And the hands are on top of the face, and they have a sun and moon painted on them to tell you what time of day it is. So the answer is a clock."

"Told you she was real good at riddles," Casey reminded them.

Midna looked at Link with wide eyes. "So when Lanayru was looking for the cure, it saw... a clock?" She spun quickly and slammed her hands down on the table, her eyes skimming the aged paper. "I've seen a clock on here, I know I have! There!" She pointed to the town in the exact center of the map, surrounded by what looked to be a wide grassy field. Sure enough, rising from the little stylized drawing that marked the town's location was what looked very much like a clock tower.

"Clock Town," Midna announced grandly. "That's where it was sending us."

Link could hardly believe it. They were so close already; it would take them half a day at most to walk the rest of the way. His heart was hammering from the sudden rush of excitement that flooded through him. Ilia would live, they'd succeeded, they'd almost found it. "Well, let's go! We know where it is now, so-" He was interrupted by a groan from Midna. "What?"

"Really, Hero? After everything we've been through today? I was chased by pirates. You were almost drowned, dismembered, and eaten by Gyorgs. I don't think either of us could go that much farther tonight."

Link looked at her with frustration. "But we're so close."

"And we're not getting any further away. Come on, let's get some sleep and something to eat, and then we'll be able to travel that much faster because we're not dead tired."

He wanted to protest, but... _What could it hurt? _said the part of him that loved Midna. _As soon as we find the cure, the magic that brought her here will send her back. What's one more night with Midna?_

Link had the uncomfortable sensation that he was supposed to have an argument for that, but Midna was right. They were beaten and tired, and they needed a little time to recover. At last, he sighed reluctantly and started to fold the map up so Midna could spirit it away. "Alright. But we're leaving first thing tomorrow. As soon as it's light."

"As soon as it's light," she echoed. "I know, Link. It's happening to my kingdom too. I wouldn't make them wait."

In silence he helped the ranch family set the table, feeling oddly detached from what he was doing. Restless and apprehensive, like he'd been back on the beach. They were so close.

_One more night with Midna. One more night to be happy._

_I just want this to be over with. I want to go back to Hyrule and see Ilia again, safe and healthy and alive._

_Liar._

**-o{}o-**

The sun sank slowly below the horizon, and a bluish twilight settled over the Southern Swamp. Seated on the porch of her squat little hut and nodding off as she was lulled by the sloshing of swamp water and the hum of insects in the canopy overhead, the witch named Koume blinked sleepily.

Something was coming. There were ripples on the water.

She blinked again, slowly, watching them lap against each other in the gathering darkness, grow larger, more spastic. Something was coming. Something big.

It hit the little hut like a shockwave, a wall of thick, brackish water three feet high, swept along by the roiling ground beneath it. It coasted past, below the tall wooden stilts the held the squat witches' hut above the water, and as it passed they shuddered violently, as if the mud they were embedded in had angrily shifted, and the whole hut was shaken, prompting a crash of breaking glass from inside. The stooping, twisted swamp trees all around Koume shook, once, and went still.

Squat little Kotake stuck her head out of the door indignantly, her face spattered with a slurry of different colored potions. "Did you feel that, Koume?"

"Of course I did, Kotake. You think I could sleep through it?" answered the other witch, who'd been flung from the porch and wound up on her back in the mud. Kotake climbed down the ladder leading up to their hut rather nimbly for her age, and helped Koume to her feet. "An earthquake, do you think?"

"Here? The ground's all mud, Koume. It just isn't natural, shaking like that."

"It could be _her_, Kotake."

They made their way back up the ladder and stood on their wide wooden porch, looking out across the water, dark with churned-up silt and mud, and watching little wavelets splash wildly across it in the darkening night, as elsewhere in the swamp another seism shook the distant trees.

"Could be," Kotake agreed. "Could be. But what's Jalhalla thinking, setting her loose?"

"She's gotten lost," Koume commented knowingly. "He sent her through the swamp, and now she's confused by all the mud and water. She's stuck."

"Not good for us, Koume."

"Not good at all, Kotake."

The deep, guttural wail of something massive echoed through the darkness. Jalhalla's pet was lost and confused. And she was getting angry.


End file.
